Pomme d'Amour
by A Fire in the Attic
Summary: Jackson was supposed to go to Harvard, and Erica was supposed to be dead, but then, things never happen how they're supposed to.
1. Part 1

**Word count**: 3654

**Pairing**: Jackson/Erica

**Notes**: You can thank my brother for this ship. Post season-3.

* * *

The thing about Jackson is that he's never _needed_ anyone. It was easy to break up with Lydia when he saw an opportunity to get what he wanted from Scott, and it was easy to tell his parents that he wanted out of Beacon Hills when he miraculously came back from the dead.

In fact, the only person Jackson really missed at all was Danny, and even then, he was satisfied with having a snarky text buddy. It worked well.

So he's understandably pissed when he picks up the smell of one of Derek's pack. They all smell kind of the same—like Derek. It's more of an undertone than an overall scent. He probably smells like that, too, even though he hasn't seen Derek in person in four years. Something about the bite being given by Derek and how he never actually severed the link from Derek.

Scott and Isaac sometimes show up—maybe once every three months. No matter how often he tells them not to, and that he doesn't need them around, and he is _fine_, okay? Piss off.

It doesn't matter. No amount of texting Derek to bother someone else seems to change the fact that being halfway across the country still isn't far enough to get away from the pack.

Whatever.

The way Jackson sees it, he has two options: run away fast enough that Scott or Isaac or Boyd or whoever can't catch him, or chase _them _down and take his anger out on them.

He's never been the type to run away. Except that one time, he thinks, but he doesn't regret it.

He turns around.

* * *

He's running on two legs, because he's in Chicago and people ignore a lot, but they won't ignore some furry freak running on four legs. Anyway, he doesn't have far to go. Chicago is big, and the smells are actually overwhelming. They probably would be for a normal human nose, but it's worse, being a werewolf. The only scents he picks up on here are nearby, maybe two blocks away.

Cities, especially like Chicago and New York, are good places for omegas to hide. It's not unusual for him to scent out a werewolf while he's walking from his apartment to the university. He nods at them sometimes, if he passes them, and they aren't homeless or whatever.

Cities are also neutral territory, which is great, because it's just another reason Jackson doesn't need Derek poking his nose into everything. Derek feels responsible for him, but there's no pack for him to talk to about letting Jackson stay, and no problem that Jackson can't handle by himself.

So why, _why_ did he send a beta?

Jackson hones in on the scent and slams the person into the wall.

The reaction is instantaneous—he's suddenly got a stomach full of claws that are yanking out as soon as they've slid in. Blood drips onto the pavement and for a second, Jackson stares at it.

It's still unsettling.

He looks up to see which pack member did _that_ only to realize that it's not one of Derek's—only it is.

"Erica?" he says incredulously. She's supposed to be dead, killed by the alphas about the same time he left for boarding school.

She stares at him, eyes wide and almost terrified. "You didn't smell the same," she says, like that makes sense. "You're a werewolf now?"

And then she's shoving away from him and tearing down the street.

* * *

He thinks about texting Derek that Erica is alive and in town, but something stops him.

He tells himself it's not out of respect for a girl he barely knew outside of the elementary school playground, but because if he tells Derek she's here, Derek will show up. And that's the last thing he wants. It's not because Erica clearly wants to be known as dead.

Anyway, he's selfish. He has no reason to share this information with Derek. Instead, he falls asleep in his intro to economics class, a requirement for pre-law but something he honestly doesn't care about. The professor basically reads from the book, anyway, and Jackson can do that for himself.

Economics is easy, anyway. If there's something he understands, it's supply and demand.

* * *

Jackson told everyone at the boarding school that he convinced his parents to enroll him there because Beacon Hills was too small. In a sense, that was true, but when Jackson stared at himself in the mirror, gripping the sink so tight he thought he might break the ceramic, he was still waiting for the snake to crawl out of his eye.

Lydia saved him, supposedly, but he left her. The other shoe has to drop eventually.

* * *

Jackson never goes to the same place to eat twice, because Chicago is big enough that he doesn't have to. And he's a werewolf, so it's not a big deal for him to run everywhere.

He misses his Porsche sometimes, though. One of the conditions for him going to boarding school was losing it. He figures that's probably a good thing, because the Porsche would just remind him of Lydia and how much she loved him and how he loved her back but it just wasn't enough.

Not when he woke up every night, terrified that he'd be covered in blood.

He's avoided places like Denny's and the odd diner up until now, but he seriously can't go eat sushi again, and to be honest, he'd kill for some wings. So he walks up to a diner called Sally's and seats himself.

He hadn't been paying attention to his sense of smell, he realized abruptly, and that was dangerous. Too late now, though, because this place was full of the smell of Derek—no, Erica.

He squeezed his eyes shut as she approached his table, but opened them when she set a menu down.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" she asks, and he's relieved that she's ignoring the elephant in the room. Someone has to.

"Coke," he mutters.

"Pepsi okay?" she asks. Her pink uniform is two sizes too small, but Erica is embroidered into the left breast pocket, and somehow it suits her. It's what she was wearing a few days ago, when he knocked into her, he realizes. She must have been on her way to work.

He shrugs. "Whatever."

She smiles at him tightly. "I'll be right back with that."

Jackson looks at the menu boredly until he finds the hot wings, and waits until she sets the Pepsi back in front of him to fold it up. "Hot wings," he says, pointedly. He looks her in the eyes. He can front. It's his best skill. He's not weak and he's knows that seeing her isn't going to lead to seeing Derek or the others.

Erica can front, too, though. He only knows because she looks perfectly calm but the scent coming off of her is a mixture of anxiety and fear that burns his nose.

He must smell the same.

"Okay," she says, and hesitates for a second. "Did you...tell the pack that..." She lets her voice trail off and raises an eyebrow.

Jackson could be a douche and act like he doesn't understand her. He decides against it. "No," he says. "I don't want them around here any more than you do."

She kind of relaxes then, and nods. "Okay. I'll have your wings for you in just a few minutes." She flashes a grin at him, and somehow it's relieving to see she's still wearing the same vampy make up—deep red lips under purple smudged eyes. It's familiar and more comforting than he expected.

It only takes a few minutes to get the wings, and when Erica brings them back to his table, she says, "Thank you," at the same time he does (because contrary to popular belief, Jackson can be polite. When he wants.

It's always smart to be polite to your servers. You never know when they'll get pissed and spit in your drink.)

When he finishes his food, he pays the bill and leave a 30% tip, twice as much as he normally would. It's hardly anything when he looks at the bill, but he figures Erica probably needs the extra 15% more than he does.

* * *

The next week he ends up seated at the same booth, not quite sure why his feet guided him here. He'd made a point to never eat in the same place before now, and he's not sure what's changed.

Erica walks up to his table, smile firmly affixed. "You're here again," she says.

He can't help but feel that the cheer is false, but he says, "Yeah. The wings didn't make me want to vomit."

When she laughs she still shows too much teeth, but he thinks about the ways he tries to intimidate people and it doesn't surprise him too much. "Do you want Pepsi again?" she asks.

"No," he says. "Is the coffee any good? I have a paper."

"The coffee is fantastic," Erica says, in an obviously rehearsed manner. "We have a special house blend." She's smirking a little now, and she must know he's not buying it.

"Will I be grossed out by the taste?" he asks instead.

"No," she says, shrugging.

"Okay, then. That."

"I'll be right back with that, unless you're ready to order?"

He shakes his head. "I'd rather eat something I could give a higher compliment than 'didn't make me want to vomit.'"

Erica smirks. "The burgers are all right."

"I'll look at them," he says, and looks away from her.

She walks away, and Jackson does not follow the way her hip switches. Not any more than anyone else in the diner, anyway.

Irritated, he returns his attention to the menu and flips to the page about burgers. He's not playing lacrosse here, because no one cares about it, and somehow, aiming to go pro doesn't seem as important now that Lydia isn't pushing him for it.

(The thing about Lydia was that she got stuck on ideas. He told her once, in the ninth grade that he wanted to play pro. It was a day where he was feeling kind of dumb and rebellious. His dad had always wanted him to go into law, but he could have told Lydia anything and she would have supported it. Back then.

He thought she was only as smart as him at the time; just average. It wasn't until the end of his sophomore year that he'd realized...she wasn't. She was way smarter than she'd ever let on. They never talked about grades, because she'd told him that was boring.

That was another problem with Lydia. The girl he was in love with wasn't the real Lydia. That still keeps him up at night, sometimes.)

But the point is, he's not playing lacrosse, and keeping a healthy diet isn't as important now that he's a werewolf.

Erica returns with a mug of coffee after a few minutes and he orders their version of a bacon cheeseburger—"The Mountain Man." It comes with onion rings, and that's pretty cool.

"I'll have that right out for you," Erica says.

Once again, it doesn't take long, and Erica spends hardly any time talking to him at his table. She sets the plate down, asks if he needs anything, and then breezes over to another table.

Jackson leaves a 32% tip, and he tells himself it's to brush up on his math skills. Whatever.

* * *

He's only halfway surprised when he ends up at the diner the next week, like clockwork. He ignores the niggling voice in his head that tells him he doesn't want to be an omega any more, and Erica smells like home and pack, so he should stick around her all the time.

He orders coffee and a BLT, and she smiles at him a little strangely.

This time, when she brings him his food, she doesn't leave right away. She leans over the table, smirking a little. "So why do you keep coming back here? Isn't it a bit beneath you?"

"Not that I've noticed," Jackson snarks. "Unless you'd like to be included in the 'beneath me' category."

It takes her a second to figure out if he's being rude or hitting on her, and she must decide on the latter, because she rolls her eyes and leans back. "Need anything else?"

"You," he says, keeping with the trend. The grin he flashes her is more of a leer.

She crosses her arms and smirks at him. "As if."

* * *

"I think you want a pack," she tells him when he shows up the next week at the same time.

He raises an eyebrow at her. "Why would I choose _you_ to be in my pack?" he asks. He's deflecting and it's probably painfully obvious.

"I don't know," she says, shrugging. Her eyes flash at him then, and he starts because they're not gold or blue, like his, but a deep red. "Because I'm an alpha without a pack?"

He feels like he needs to submit, but he pushes that instinct back. He's a Whittemore, and they never back down. He stares straight back at her eyes, brown once again. "I didn't know you were an alpha." He doesn't mean to say that. "But you can't be a better alpha than Derek." It's meant to offend her, but—

She snorts. "Anyone could be a better alpha than Derek."

He snickers without meaning to, and she grins victoriously. "I don't want to be in your pack," he tells her.

"Right," she says, carefully. "So why are you leaving me those tips? You trying to show me that you can provide for me or something?"

He chokes on his response to the original question and says instead, "No!"

"Then why?" she asks curiously, tilting her head.

He opens his mouth to answer, but for a second his snark fails him, and all he can think to say is, "None of your business," like he's a girl in the fifth grade or something.

Erica seems equally unimpressed with that response, and she just rolls her eyes. "You want coffee?"

"Yes," he says, trying to get a hold of himself. "Coffee."

She nods, and gestures to the menu. "Are you ready to order?"

He picks something at random so he won't have to see her any more than is absolutely necessary. "Big Steak Omelet," he blurts.

She hides a grimace. "Right. I'll have that out for you in a few minutes."

"Thanks," he says.

She leaves him contemplating leaving and never coming back, but he's already ordered—food that, admittedly, looks disgusting—and he's not going to run away from a lone alpha, who for all her extra strength, was no better than an omega.

And, and—every part of him rebels against the idea of leaving while she's..._winning_ the conversation.

When she returns to the table with his coffee, she's still smirking, but she leans forward and says, "It's on the house."

Shit.

"Thank you," he says, but he's not sure he should be glad. There's two options—she's apologizing or she spit in his drink. Neither sounds appealing, if he's honest, but he hopes it's the first.

"You're welcome," she says, and sashays away.

He watches her. He can't lie about that.

* * *

After the last fiasco, he almost doesn't return to the diner. Beyond that, the Big Steak Omelet was disgusting. So far the only thing that has been remotely edible is the coffee and the burger.

But...now it's become a pattern. And he can't let Erica's smirks chase him away.

If he's honest with himself, he likes their banter. He just likes it more when he's winning.

"Your tips just keep getting bigger," Erica says when she walks up to his table. "What was it last time? 38%?"

He let's his eyes flicker over her still-too-small uniform and raises an eyebrow. "You clearly need all the help you can get."

"Hey, not complaining," she says. "But if you're judging that based on my uniform, I'll have you know that I was twenty pounds lighter when I started here. Running around in the woods for a year really does wonders for your weight. And now..." She ran a hand down her side. "I like how it fits."

"Who wouldn't?" he says, smirking at her. "And I was judging you based on the fact that you're apparently a career waitress."

She shrugs. "Money is money. And I only have to show off my cleavage here. It could be worse."

Yeah, he thinks. It could be.

"Anyway, why are you in Chicago? I thought you'd be at Yale or Harvard. Some school where they play lots of lacrosse," Erica says. "And do you want coffee?"

"Yes to the coffee. And I'm here because...No one expected me to choose University of Chicago, and no one expects me to play lacrosse here." He pauses and gives her a pointed look. "Except you."

She smiles. "Sure. Do know what you want to order?"

"The California Burger, please," he says, giving her the superficial smile he wore throughout high school.

"Oooh, avocado," she says, rolling her eyes as she writes it down. "You're so fancy."

"We already established that," he says, smirking. "I'm the best person here."

"Right," she says. "Keep telling yourself that." She spins on her heel, and this time doesn't bother to let him know she'll be right back with his food.

He fiddles with his phone a little and shoots Danny a text. "Hey, man, you going back to BH for the summer?"

Danny replies right away, which means he's in class. "Yeah, probably. You?"

"I don't know," he sends back. "Still trying to avoid Derek."

"Right, you and that weird beef with a guy you really shouldn't know."

Not telling Danny the truth about why his life had spiraled out of control is still the most difficult qualification for Jackson leaving Beacon Hills. This one came from Derek, of course. His parents had no idea what had happened sophomore year, and Jackson was determined to keep it that way.

But he steels himself and sends, "Yeah, well, it's weird, man. Do you think I should go home?"

"Probably," comes the reply, and then, a minute later, "Lydia really misses you. And I'm sure your parents want to see you, too."

Jackson thinks about Lydia, the girl he loved four years ago, the girl who loved him enough to put herself in danger of death to pull him back. His chest is suddenly so tight. It always happens in moments like these, when Danny gives him some sort of indication that Lydia still feels the same and he realizes just how much he doesn't. But he doesn't know how to tell Danny.

So he sends something else. "I'll think about it."

Erica comes back then, and sets the mug in front of him. "It's on the house."

"Again?" he asks incredulously.

She shrugs and pats his shoulder. "The coffee isn't _that_ good, and I can give out free coffee whenever I want. Within reason."

"I'm within reason," Jackson says slowly. Her hand hasn't left his shoulder and that tightness in his chest loosens a bit. He hasn't let any one touch him in so long that this feels strange and relieving all at once.

She shrugs. "Yeah."

He stares at her and watches as her cheeks turn slightly pink. He licks his lips almost unconsciously, but a part of him (a big part) wants her to react to that, too.

She doesn't, of course, because she rarely does what he wants or what he expects. "It's mostly to thank you for the tips." She lifts her hand.

"Thank you," he says carefully.

She smile and nods before walking away.

He texts Danny again. "I want to come visit you sometime. For spring break or something."

"Can you get tickets that fast?" Danny asks.

"Of course," he sends back, making a face at his phone. He and Danny used to have full conversations in nothing but facial expressions, but put half a country between them, and suddenly that's a lot more difficult.

"Then yeah, come up here."

"Cool," he sends, and then he sets down his phone because Erica is back with his food.

"For the record," she says as she puts the plate in front of him. "This is my favorite burger. It's the best one they serve her."

"You've never steered me wrong before," he says and smiles winningly.

She nods. "That's true. And I'll continue that by recommending a slice of the apple pie. It's definitely worth it."

Jackson takes a bite of the burger before answering her. Like she said, it's incredible. "Okay. With whipped cream, please."

"Is there another way to eat it?" she asks with half a laugh.

"No way," he answers. That stupid smile is still on his face, but for once, he doesn't feel like he's faking it. Erica is making him smile the way Danny does, the way Lydia used to. He can get behind that.

She brings him the apple pie when he's halfway through his burger, but he doesn't try it until he's finished and licking the avocado from his fingers. Across the diner, he looks up and meets Erica's eyes.

She smiles at him, and it's genuine, not a smirk.

He tries the apple pie, and it's the best thing he's tasted the entire time he's been in Chicago, which is so stupid because it probably just came from a box, but then Jackson has always loved apples and apple pie. The crust is flakey and the whipped cream—that's not from a can or a tub. it's real, like, homemade. He'd guarantee it.

He leaves 40% tip.

* * *

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Teen Wolf.

**A/N**: This will have either one or two more parts and I guess it's up to you guys if you want the next part in Jackson or Erica's POV. The original plan was for it to be all Jackson (and believe me, I am lovin' it) but I'd be okay if you wanted her side, too.

Erica appreciation week continues, even when we're not inside her head! Right on bros.


	2. Part 2

**Word Count**: 2661

* * *

Economics has taken a turn for the worse. They're beyond simple things like supply and demand now (despite the fact that his professor continuously claims that everything relates back to it.)

He'd like to know what short-term and long-term aggregate supply curves have to do with that, but whatever; if he can make it through this week, he'll have spring break.

He spends the afternoon after classes end studying in the library and writing a paper. It's weird for him to devote so much time to school work, but this isn't high school any more, and he can't bully his teachers into giving him a good grade.

Not that he did that before. It was actually easier to charm them, honestly.

He's about two hours later than usual when he finally makes it to the diner, and maybe he sees Erica shoot him a relieved look while he seats himself, or maybe that's wishful thinking.

He observes the menu carefully and decides that today seems like a good day to reward himself with something that will actually taste good, and that the California Burger is probably the best choice.

He doesn't like repeating dishes, but here the best choice seems to be "If it ain't broke, don't fix it." Or whatever.

He kind of nods to himself and waits for Erica to come over to his table to take his order. In the mean time, he pulls his phone out and texts Danny. "Got the tix. we partyin or what?"

Danny doesn't reply for a couple of minutes, which means he's either with a guy or he's doing homework. Based on the tone of his texts recently, Jackson would guess homework.

Sure enough, he texts back three minutes later. "Cool. I can take you to the best gay clubs in town. ;)"

Jackson snorts. "I thought we decided I was a horrible wingman."

"It's because of your mouth," Danny replies, and then adds a couple seconds later, "And the freckles don't hurt."

"Is that a thing?" Jackson types back, but before he can hit send, Erica is at his table.

"Hi," she says, and this time her smile is less predatory and more welcoming. "I thought you weren't coming."

"Worried about me?" he asks with a smirk.

She rolls her eyes. "You wish. I actually just thought you found a better place to eat."

Her heart doesn't skip, but somehow he can't help but think she's lying. That doesn't make sense, but...

"What can I get for you?" she asks, smirking like she knows what he's thinking about. And maybe she does.

"Coffee," he says, and he's wondering if she'll give him free coffee again and if that means anything and then if he even wants it to mean anything. Because he barely knows her beyond the basics.

"I'll have that right out for you."

He hits send on the text message to Danny after she walks away, and his phone buzzes back, "Ha, not really. They're just cute. Lydia liked to talk about them."

Lydia again. Jackson almost wonders if Danny is _trying_ to pull the truth out of him, if he's been trying since Jackson left.

He ignores it the same way he's been doing it for the last five years and replies with his old adage. "I think the truth is that I'm everyone's type."

"Right, except mine," Danny answers.

"You're a part of everyone," Jackson points out.

"Do you want me to be attracted to you?" Danny asks. The first time he asked, Jackson was pretty sure he was serious. But even then, they'd been closer than brothers and completely disinterested in anything beyond friendship.

Danny knows the truth now, of course. Or, you know the truth about what Jackson feels for him. Not the truth about the full moon. Which still sucks.

So Jackson can tease. "Of course. It's good for my ego."

"Your ego doesn't need help," Danny answers.

"Here you go," Erica says, setting a mug of coffee in front of him. "Ready to order?"

"The California Burger," he says.

"An excellent decision," Erica says decisively.

"My options _are_ severely limited," he says drily.

Erica rolls her eyes. "What do you expect? We're not exactly the finest establishment."

He looks around the place slowly, pretending to weigh that out in his mind. "You're right. No idea why I keep coming around." He gives her a pointed look.

She taps her chin. "Hmm," she says. "So today is a flirting day. Is there a schedule to this? Closer to the full moon you get hornier and start looking for a mate or something?"

"Do you?" he asks, feigning interest. Definitely feigning.

She flashes him a razor sharp grin. "Are you volunteering?"

"Are you holding auditions?" He wonders how long he can keep turning her questions back on her, and suspects that it won't be long.

"Oh sweetie," she says, winking at him. "You don't have to audition." She walks away without a backwards glance.

He swallows drily, remembers he has a mug of coffee, and drinks a large gulp. It doesn't help to soothe him at all.

Finally, he reads Danny's text again—and of course he's taking a shot at his ego. He thinks about Erica's comment and realizes he clearly needs more people to compliment him, if he's this affected by a girl he barely knows. He texts Danny a half-hearted, "Who needs anything? Any economist could tell you that everything is based on wants."

He can collect what he knows about Erica on one hand.

She's a werewolf who ran just as fast as him on the elementary school playground, until she started having seizures and became a social outcast. Boyd saw her die when they tried to escape the alpha pack, but she isn't dead. She's an alpha werewolf pretending she doesn't exist, working at a diner where she scrapes together tips to get by.

But she still does her makeup the same, and she's in control of her life, or at least it looks that way.

He shouldn't want to know more.

Except that everything he just listed is incredibly interesting and he wants to know _why_ she is the way she is.

His phone buzzes in his hand, and he realizes he's been staring off into space. He looks at the text, from Danny.

"Don't act like you're smart," it reads.

Jackson relaxes, because whenever the going gets tough, Danny is there. "Dude I have so much to tell you," he says, instead of rising to the bait. He thinks Danny is pretty used to that by now. Jackson fronts around a lot of people, but really, the only person he consistently lets his guard down around is Danny.

"Right now?" Danny asks.

"Nah, next week," he answers, just as Erica sets a plate in front of him.

"Refill?" she asks, pointing at his coffee.

"Yeah," he says. "Thanks."

"Sure," she says, and walks away to retrieve the coffee pot.

Danny replies, "Okay. Thinking about BH?"

"No," he types out. "Not really."

"How is Danny?" Erica asks while she pours the coffee.

"How did you know it was him?" Jackson wonders. He's staring at her hand, he realizes suddenly, and he's not sure why.

She shrugs. "I just guessed."

"He's not my only friend," he points out.

She raises an eyebrow. "I never said he was." She pauses, setting the coffee down on the table. "Besides, he's your best friend." Her gaze is really intense, then.

Almost petulantly, he shrugs. "But not my _only_ friend."

"But I was right," she says, picking up the coffee again. "He was the one you were texting."

"Yeah," he says. "He's good, I think. Single, so I guess he's upset about that."

"I never thought of Danny as the type who would need a relationship to be happy," she says thoughtfully.

"He's not," Jackson says. He doesn't really envy it in Danny, because it's not like he wasn't just as happy without Lydia as he was with her (okay, admittedly, that's a lie.) "But I think he's happier when he is in a relationship. Looser."

"Hmm," Erica says. "I wonder what that's like." She freezes immediately after saying it, and Jackson files away another fact about Erica. (Has apparently never been in a relationship.)

"I thought you and Boyd..." He lets his voice trailing off.

She blushes. "Um, not really."

"Hmm," he says, regarding her with interest. "You are just full of surprises."

"Is that a good thing?"

He shrugs and picks up his burger. "Could be." He bites into the burger and licks a crumb off of his lip. When he looks up, Erica is staring at him, cheeks still pink.

He would smirk at her if his mouth wasn't full, but she's already walking away, returning the coffeepot to its spot, and greeting another customer. A deep feeling of satisfaction settles in him.

So he guesses the answer is yes: he wants Erica to like him and to want to know more about him. He wants to erase whatever preconceived notions she has about him, that he's just a jock, just a bully, just a sheltered rich boy who doesn't know what real suffering feels like.

He's never been so contemplative while eating fast food before, but there's a first time for everything.

His phone buzzes again, and he figures that Danny must really hate whatever he's working on. He's not usually so talkative when he's doing homework. "Is this about a girl?"

Jackson wipes his hands on the single napkin Erica provided and then tapped out a quick reply. "Maybe." He erased it before sending, and wrote, "Yes." He doesn't bother to pick up his burger again after that, because Danny will want to know more.

Sure enough, the reply comes seconds later. "A girl who's not Lydia, I guess."

"Right," Jackson sends back. He doesn't say, "It hasn't been Lydia for a while," because some things need to be said in person.

Maybe Jackson is being ridiculous but he's actually incredibly excited to see Danny in person. It's not like he _needs_ Danny to be around, because he doesn't _need_ anyone. But he _wants_ to see Danny in a format that isn't Skype.

Danny's next text says, "You aren't going to tell me anything else, are you?"

Jackson sends, "Basically," and returns his attention to his burger.

Erica returns to his table after a while. Almost everyone is gone from the diner, and when Jackson looks at his clock, he realizes how late it is. He eats notoriously slow, or at least slow enough that it used to piss Lydia off.

She doesn't ask him to leave, though. "Do you need a refill?" she asks.

His mug is still full. "No," he answers.

"Anything?" she asks.

"Nah," he answers.

"Then leave," she suggests, and the catty look is back.

It's almost disconcerting to think she could kill him easily. The story of how she became an alpha is one he wants to know, but he thinks they probably aren't there yet. In fact, it would probably be safest, for now, if he just automatically submitted to her.

"Actually," he says instead, smirking right back at her. "I'd like some pie."

The grin she gives him now looks like the kind of grin Stilinski used to give him—the kind that says, "I'm restraining myself from strangling you." He appreciates the sentiment, really.

"Apple, I suppose," she says.

"Naturally."

She sighs and looks around. Now Jackson really is the last customer here, but she nods. "Fine, fine. I'll be back with the pie and your check in just as minute."

"Thank you," he says pleasantly, and finishes his fries while he waits.

She returns with the entire pie and a tub of whipped cream—he's gratified to see that it was indeed homemade. "Mind if I join you?" she asks, but doesn't wait for his answer as she slides into the booth across from him in the booth. Her knees brush his, and he automatically sits up straighter to pull them closer, and then regrets it.

Which is stupid, because he's not in middle school, having his first crush again. He is better than this.

"I would be delighted," he says, even though she's already seated across from him.

She hands him a new fork, cuts out a slice for him, and then one for herself. She dumps liberal amounts of whipped cream on both, and slides his plate across the table. "I don't know about you," she says. "But the whipped cream really completes the pie for me."

"It is really good," he agrees, and bites into the pie with relish. He savors that first bite, because it's just as delicious as he remembered it.

Erica grinning at him, eyes half-lidded as she chews her own bite. "Sasha makes it," she explains after swallowing.

"Are we eating this whole pie?" he asks.

"If we don't, I have to throw it away," she says.

"Well, in that case," he says, shrugging. "Let's do this."

They gorge themselves on pie slowly, and Jackson has never been more grateful for werewolf metabolism.

"So you're at the university here?" Erica asks sometime after his third piece.

"Yeah, studying pre-law," he says. Strangely the pie's taste hasn't become less appealing, even in the middle of his fourth piece.

"I thought you wanted to play professional lacrosse."

Jackson rolls his eyes. "In, like, the ninth grade. Things change."

Erica licks the whipped cream off of her fork. "Yeah," she says slowly. "They do." Her eyes are on him, but she almost seems to be looking through him. She blinks and twitches after a second, and seems to come back to herself.

He wants to ask. He stops himself.

"So what's my tip going to be today?" she asks in mock boredom.

He looks at the tip. "42%," he says, and he smiles at her because he wants her to like him. He does. It's not like he's trying to buy her affection, because he knows that won't work. But a smile from Jackson Whittemore has been enough to get the girl before, and even if it doesn't work here, it will move him in the right direction.

He wants more than just her attention, he wants a crush, he wants...

Erica smiles. "Is it because I gave you free pie and free coffee?"

"Nah," he says. "It's the company that really sold me."

The pie is all gone now, but neither of them move for a long second, just looking at each other. Erica's smile is the softest he's ever seen it, which isn't too difficult to accomplish, because Erica _isn't _soft . She's all rough edges of sex appeal and fear and strength and damage and power.

So he's smiling back at her, and he thinks the smile is probably just as soft as hers but he can't bring himself to regret that.

Then she yawns, and says, "Okay, pay up and get out, dude. I'm tired."

"Yeah, okay," he says, rolling his eyes at her. So the moment is over, but he pulls out his card, adds the tip to the total, and hands it to her.

"How do you do math that fast?" she asks, seeming vaguely impressed.

He shrugs. "Boarding school."

"Okay," she says, and she smiles as she walks away to charge his card.

When she brings it back, he's leaning against the table, waiting for her.

She doesn't stand closer than normal, but he reaches out and tugs on one of her curls, watching it stretch out straight, and then releasing it. It springs back into a curl, and he smiles.

"Just like a kindergartener," she says, punching his arm. It's not a gentle punch, but it's not like she used her full strength either.

Even so, he rubs his arm. "Rude," he says.

She rolls her eyes. "Get out."

He does.

* * *

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Teen Wolf.

**A/N**: So I lied and this is going to be probably more like four parts oops. Oh well more for you guys amirite?

Eugh I hope you guys feel like I kept Jackson in character this time. I feel like I did? Because Jackson can be soft when he wants. We all saw how he acted around Allison when he wanted to take her away from Scott. I think it's completely within his characterization. I hope so.


	3. Part 3

**Word Count**: 4162

**Notes**: Erica isn't actually in this chapter. Sigh of all sighs.

* * *

It's not that Jackson isn't glad to be in New York to see Danny, it's just that he realized on the flight over that he'd miss Erica in the diner this week, and he hadn't even told her he would be gone. Not that he owes her any kind of explanation, but he thinks about how relieved she looked when he'd walked in late last week.

Okay, that look of relief had been subtle, but he's had four days to stew over and replay the evening, and Jackson is...overanalyzing. Too much.

The things is, he's always had a pretty good read on people. There's a reason he was popular, a reason he knew exactly where to push to make Stilinski and Scott angry, a reason he knew when Danny was upset, and, of course, a reason he knew when to just give in to Lydia's demands that they watch _The Notebook_. (For the last one, the answer was always.) So he knows Erica was happy to see him last week. Or...maybe not happy, but...content? Yeah.

He sighs as he picks up his duffle bag. He's halfway across the country and it's still not far enough to get her off his mind.

He texts Danny. "Got my luggage. Do I need to call a cab?"

Danny replies immediately. "I have one waiting. Come out to the greeting area."

Jackson grins, and for the first time since touching down, he feels light. He shoulders his duffle and pushes through the crowd.

Danny is leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. He looks a lot like he did in high school—relaxed and amused. When his eyes meet Jackson's, a genuine grin crosses his face and he pushes himself up.

They don't run across the airport with open arms or anything, but fast walking and a bro hug definitely happen. "Hey," Jackson says.

"Hey, man," Danny says happily. When they step apart, he says, "You're looking good. Better."

Jackson raises an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"

"You looked like shit last time I saw you," Danny says.

Jackson considers that as they walk out the doors and toward the cab Danny had hailed. "Felt like it, I guess."

"Well, you look better."

"It's all for you," Jackson says, smirking.

Danny punches his shoulder. "Shut up."

"Nah," Jackson says. He pushes Danny into the backseat of the cab.

Danny gives the driver his address, and then throws an arm around Jackson's shoulder. "So my roommate is going to be there tonight, but he's leaving in the morning for, like, Bermuda or something."

"Stan, right?" Jackson asks. "He still think you're in love with me?"

"Probably," Danny says.

"Are we trying to dislodge this idea, or..." Jackson quirks an eyebrow at him.

Danny smiles wider. "I guess that's up to you."

"How big is your bed?"

Danny laughs.

* * *

Stan isn't in the apartment when they get there, and Jackson tosses his duffle underneath Danny's bed. He flops back onto it.

"I think we can share," he says decisively.

"The other option is taking Stan's bed, so yeah," Danny says, crossing his arms. "You hungry?"

"_Yes_," Jackson says. He hadn't felt like eating before taking off, and the Coke he'd drunk on the plane had done the opposite of filling his stomach.

"Sushi?" Danny offers.

Jackson nods and sits up. "Tell me there's a place nearby."

Danny just shoots him a look like he should know better, and maybe he should. Since they were old enough to drive, the two of them have been driving to the only sushi place in Beacon Hills, and years apart obviously haven't changed that tradition. Last year Danny had stayed with him in Chicago for a week in June and they'd eaten sushi every night.

Though he loathes to admit it, Jackson grudgingly acknowledges that sometimes, he and Danny are just as lame as Scott and Stilinski. Except they look better doing it.

"Come on," Danny says, and Jackson follows him out of the apartment. They only walk a couple blocks before arriving at the restaurant.

"We're not eating this daily, right?" Jackson asks, but he's grinning and Danny shrugs.

The hostess takes them to a table by a window, which Jackson is grateful for because he knows this way he can put off talking about Lydia and Erica for at least the extent of the meal.

"What's good here?" Jackson asks as he browses the menu.

Danny huffs and then grins. "Everything?"

Jackson snorts and kicks him under the table. "Okay, okay."

They end up ordering six rolls to share. Jackson sips on a Coke and asks Danny about school. He tries not to think about the fact that ordering a coffee would feel like betrayal to Erica, which is so, so stupid. (He doesn't know her that well and he should be able to drink coffee whenever. It's not like anyone else would give it to him for free, anyway.)

"How's school?" Jackson asks, just because he's with Danny right then and somehow, conversations are much more enlightening when you can actually see the person's face.

"It's okay," Danny says. "Tedious, though. They give so much busy work that it's ridiculous."

"I told you not to major in something you're already the master of," Jackson says.

Danny rolls his eyes. "I need a degree in something I like," he huffs. "Computer science fits that bill." He tilts his head to the side, contemplatively, and says, "Although, I could be making money right now, and not going to school."

"Dude," Jackson says. "You know that's a bad idea." Neither of them will call what Danny is good at "hacking," but that's mostly because Danny likes to keep his past a secret in polite company.

"I know," Danny snaps. "I'm just saying. This seems really useless. I'm going to school and learning things I already know just so I can get a job that's on the right side of the law. And I'm sure I'll like my job when I have it, but right now? Right now sucks."

"Ah," Jackson says, making a mock sympathetic face. "I knew you were single."

Danny glares at him.

"Of course, you would have told me if you started dating someone, right?" Jackson says, trying to sip and frowning when he realizes he's out of Coke.

"Yes," Danny grits out. "But can you not, right now?"

"Sorry," Jackson says automatically.

Danny deflates a little. "Later, okay? Not...here."

"Of course."

Their server arrives then and sets down the sushi. She takes Jackson's glass. "You guys need anything else?" she asks.

"No, thank you," Jackson says automatically, but he barely glances at her...which only reminds him of how much attention he pays to Erica, and suddenly he wants to stab himself in the face with his chopsticks.

Instead he uses them to pick up a cut of the dragon roll, and dips it in soy sauce.

"How's school for you?" Danny asks after a few bites. "Still not playing lacrosse?"

"Nope," Jackson says. "And I think it's a good thing."

"That's cool," Danny says. He chews contemplatively for a second. "You used to really like Lacrosse," he offers.

"It's easy to like something when everyone praises you," Jackson says. "Then someone new shows up and your girlfriend makes out with him instead of you and things get...weird." And that's true—lacrosse had been fun at first, when he was still learning the ropes and just naturally excelling. But it was almost like he got _too _ good at it. Good enough that Lydia and his parents noticed, and then it was all about being the best. Which had been fine, when he was the best. It was still good to have the entire school (the ones who cared about JV lacrosse, anyway) rooting for him.

Only then he wasn't the best any more, and things weren't so much fun after that.

He hasn't played lacrosse since leaving Beacon Hills, and the idea of starting now, not being the best—and how could he be, when he hasn't played in so long?—is actually terrifying.

"Yeah, that'll do it," Danny agrees. "But we should play a game while you're here. Just for fun. I have an extra stick."

"Just the two of us?" Jackson asks, amused.

"It'd mostly be you throwing the ball at me and me blocking it," Danny says with a shrug.

"Okay," Jackson agrees, nodding. "Okay."

* * *

Stan is back when they get to the apartment, sprawled on his bed with his laptop on his lap, head propped so he can see the screen. "'Sup?" he says as the two of them walk in.

Danny gestures to Jackson as he introduces him, and Stan nods wisely.

"He's the one you've been hung up on all month, right?" he asks.

"Uh, dude, no," Danny says grimacing. "Jackson is like my brother."

Jackson frowns at the guy, because he shouldn't know more about Danny's love life than Jackson does, living situation aside.

"Sure, whatever, man," Stan says, in a voice that clearly says he doesn't believe him.

"Jackson's not my type," Danny says, partly to prove a point to Stan, partly to tease Jackson.

And like every other time, Jackson goes with it. "I'm everyone's type," he recites, giving Stan a pointed look.

Stan flushes.

"Cut it out," Danny says. "He's straight."

"Everyone is straight until they meet me," Jackson informs Danny.

Danny looks at Stan then and shakes his head in exasperation. "Don't worry, man, he's straight, too. He won't try to seduce you."

Stan shrugs. "No big deal."

Jackson grins at him with too many teeth. "So, Bermuda, huh? Been before?"

"Nope, first time," Stan answers.

Jackson sits down on Danny's bed and stretches his arms over his head until they crack. "It's a nice place," he offers as he shakes them out.

"Cool," Stan says, and then returns his attention to his computer.

Danny sits next to Jackson. "Do you want to shower? I know you hate the traveling part of traveling."

"Do not," Jackson says petulantly. But he huffs out half a laugh when Danny shoves him over. "Yeah, yeah, I'll shower." He heads over to the tiny bathroom and says, "You got a towel I can borrow?"

"Blue ones are mine," Danny answers. He's digging under his bed and pulls out his laptop. "And I still used the same shampoo and stuff."

"Thanks," Jackson says, and shuts the bathroom door.

* * *

The next morning Jackson wakes up tucked closely to Danny. It'd be awkward if they hadn't been doing it forever. He sits up.

Stan is awake, moving around quietly. "Did I wake you?" he mumbles.

Jackson shakes his head. "You're good," he says, yawning. "Gonna piss." He stumbles out of bed and into the bathroom.

When he comes back, Stan's hand is on the doorknob, but he's paused, face contemplative. "You know, if I was going to go gay for someone, it'd be Danny," he tells Jackson.

Jackson nods and offers half a smile. "Me too."

"I know he's not in love with you," Stan says, opening the door. "I was just messing with him. Although the fact that you were practically spooning him this morning would not convince any one else."

Jackson rolls his eyes. "Danny and I have been best friends since we were in diapers," he explains. "Our parents were always close."

Stan smiles at that. "Tell him I said 'Bye,'" he says, and then he's gone.

Jackson falls asleep after that.

Later, when they're both awake and after they've eaten, Danny tosses Jackson a stick and says, "Let's go to the park."

"Central Park?" Jackson asks, and yeah, he's a little excited. He's never actually been to New York City before, and the prospect of playing lacrosse in Central Park is actually really cool. In fact it's the most excited he's been about playing lacrosse since...well, since Scott had been bitten.

"Sure," Danny says. "It's not too far."

"Not too far" translates into "something like a mile and a half," apparently, but Jackson doesn't really mind. Being in a new place and being with Danny are making him pretty buoyant, so he's still relaxed when they finally arrive.

They toss the ball back and forth a couple times, Jackson trying to get it past Danny and Danny trying to block it. Jackson does his best not to use the werewolf advantage, but it's not like he has the greatest control. He's okay during the full moon and hasn't gone on rampages or anything, but other than that, he's not really there.

After a while, that gets boring. Most of the fun in lacrosse comes from dodging people and sprinting across the field, at least from Jackson's point of view. Danny had always preferred playing goalie which was a lot more stationary. Still, it had been nice, just tossing the ball around.

The two of them sit down on the grass, lacrosse sticks behind them.

"So, you want to talk about Lydia?" Danny asks at last. He's playing with the grass in front of him.

Jackson really appreciates that Danny isn't staring at him. It makes this conversation a lot easier. "Lydia," he mumbles. "Yeah. It's just...a lot of things, man." He doesn't know where to start.

"Sophomore year you broke up with her," Danny says carefully. "I thought you were stupid, but I understood it. You wanted to figure out what was going on with Scott and that took precedence."

He hates the way that sounds, like he ranked Lydia as #2, after the whole thing with the werewolves. But that's how it had been. "That was kind of the beginning of the end, wasn't it?" he says softly. "Lydia is...a thousand different things, you know? I don't think she acted the same around any two people."

"No," Danny agrees. "She did not."

"It's not like I don't understand that, you know?" Jackson says. "But Lydia, to me, was manic and pushy and demanding as much as she was gentle and loving. And that was fine, but she expected so much and it got to the point where I felt like I couldn't deliver."

Danny does look at him now, forehead wrinkled. "But...right before you left for Pleasantville, Lydia thought you two were getting back together," Danny says. "But it sounds like you hadn't loved her for longer than that."

"No," Jackson says immediately. "I did love her. I do. I don't think it's possible not to, you know? She's everything I should want." He hesitates, and now it's him playing with the grass. "But, it's not enough. It wasn't enough for me to stay there, not even for her."

This isn't a good conversation. Jackson can feel the anxiety twisting his stomach and curling into his lungs.

Danny wraps an arm around Jackson, grounding him for a minute. "Hey, you don't have to talk about what happened," he says gently.

And the thing is—the thing is, Danny doesn't know what happened. He doesn't know why Jackson was declared dead only to rise up again. Jackson never told him, could never tell him, still feels like he can't. He can't tell him why he was so messed up during the Kanima time. Part of it is because the last time Jackson tried to think about it in full, he nearly had a panic attack. The other part is that he doesn't want Danny involved in werewolf messes. _He_ doesn't want to be involved in them, honestly. And now that he has the powers, he can hardly remember why he wanted them so much. Sure, he's stronger and faster, plus he can eat whatever he wants, but when he considers the journey to this point, the bite has only caused more problems than it's solved.

He realizes how tense he is when Danny starts rubbing his shoulders. "Dude," he says. "I'm sorry. You don't have to talk about any of this. Just try and stay with me, okay?"

"Sorry," Jackson chokes out. "I didn't...mean to." He tries to breathe normally, and is marginally successful.

For a couple minutes, they're both quiet. Finally, Danny breaks the silence. "We could talk about something else," he suggests.

"No," Jackson says. "I should tell you about Lydia."

"Okay," Danny says. "What did you mean by it wasn't enough?"

"It's like I said," Jackson says, shutting his eyes. "She wants so much out of the world, and I'm sure she'll get everything she wants. But it just got to the point that I couldn't make myself give her that any more. She was always so high-maintenance."

"To be fair," Danny says, "You are, too."

Jackson chuckles. "Yeah. But maybe two high-maintenance people shouldn't date."

"Nah, you two really worked well together, when things were still...good."

"Doesn't everyone?" Jackson says.

"Yeah," Danny says, shrugging. "But you two more than most. It's why I kept pushing it. Which...sorry, by the way."

Jackson waved a hand half-heartedly. "Nah, man. It's okay. It's not like I told you before now."

"Well that's true," Danny says. "But am I right in assuming that whatever happened that night on the lacrosse field solidified the end?"

"it was so much more than that," Jackson says without thinking. As soon as his brain catches up, he regrets it, because he has no way to explain being a green rage monster under the control of madmen. No way to explain that all those deaths were his fault—_not_ his fault, not really, but it never seemed to feel that way. He swallows.

Danny doesn't speak, clearly waiting.

"I don't think...coming back from the dead is so much different than I ever thought it would be," Jackson says. A high-pitched, nervous laugh slips out before he can contain it. "But I was so sick that whole...month. I didn't understand what was happening until it was too late and she—Lydia, she was there when I woke up again. I wasn't physically sick any more, but mentally...I kept waking up terrified and guilty. It's like being in Beacon Hills was too much for me to handle, so...I left."

Danny's eyes are wide and he says quickly, "It's okay, Jackson."

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Jackson demands. He's half-afraid that he's shifted without meaning to.

"You're panicking," Danny explains. "You need to calm down. Tell me about something else."

"I really hate my economics class," Jackson says, because it's the first thing he can think of.

Danny laughs a little. "Why?"

"Teacher sucks, subject sucks, it's dumb, who needs it?"

"Economists?" Danny suggests.

"Yeah," Jackson agrees, smiling half-heartedly. "Guess they do."

* * *

They spend the next few days ignoring the elephant in the room. Instead, they play video games at night, go jogging in the mornings, eat sushi for lunch daily, and talk about light-hearted things.

Jackson decides to push his luck the fourth day he's there, while they're playing Resident Evil. "So who's the guy you're pining over?"

"I'm not pining," Danny says firmly, and takes out a zombie. "I just happen to find him attractive."

"Danny, you have the best game out of any one I know," Jackson says. "Why haven't you convinced him to go out with you yet?"

Danny shrugs. "He doesn't seem interested. I don't think I'm his type."

"Dude, you are everyone's type," Jackson says, grinning.

Danny pauses the game to tackle him.

* * *

"So when are you going to tell me about the new girl?" Danny asks at lunch.

"Uh," Jackson says. "When we go back to your apartment, maybe."

Danny rolls his eyes. "Are you embarrassed or something?"

"Not...exactly," Jackson mutters. "It's just complicated."

"You're totally embarrassed," Danny says. "That's adorable."

Jackson makes a face at him. "Shut up and eat your sushi."

Danny keeps chuckling after that, every time he catches a glimpse of Jackson's pout. "I'm only getting more interested," he says as they walk out of the restaurant later. "I hope you aren't going to say something lame like being in love with another pre-law student who isn't as pretty as you."

"Not in love, and no one is as pretty as me," Jackson snaps.

"Huh," Danny says, unlocking the door to the apartment. "Whatever you say." After shutting the door, he rounds on Jackson. "Spill," he says.

How do you tell your best friend that you were crushing on a dead girl? "You remember Erica Reyes?" Jackson blurts. He thinks maybe Danny won't remember for a second, because it's not like they'd run in remotely the same social circle. People only knew who Erica was because of the seizures, and then because of the corsets. Danny had never been interested in bullying anyone, and girls in corsets obviously weren't that interesting to him.

"Yeah," Danny says, eyebrows drawing together. "But isn't she dead?"

"Apparently not," Jackson says, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"And you like her," Danny says. He sounds delighted and Jackson feels his face burn.

"Ugh, shouldn't have told you," he says covering his face.

"Is she still dressing like she did toward the end?" Danny asks.

Jackson opens his mouth to respond, and then stops. "I don't actually know. I only see her where she works."

"Where's that?"

"Some diner," Jackson says.

"Dude," Danny chokes out, gaping at him. "Do you eat there all the time just to see her?"

"I don't eat there all the time," Jackson says defensively.

"But you go just to see her. Dude."

"Shut up," Jackson says, rolling his eyes.

"Sorry, sorry," Danny says, sighing. "But she likes you, too, right?"

Jackson shrugs. "Maybe."

"I thought you were everyone's type," Danny says.

Jackson looks up at him with a vicious grin on his face. "Oh, yeah. Forgot." Then they're behaving like twelve year olds again and wrestling.

It's surprisingly easy to control himself around Danny, and Jackson wonders if his anchor has been his best friend all along. It just sucks that he's halfway across the country from him.

When Jackson finally pins Danny, he says, "You can't tell any one she's alive, by the way."

"I figured," Danny says, shrugging. He shifts until Jackson rolls off of him and they both sit up. "But can I meet her?"

"Uh," Jackson says, blanking for a second. "I'll ask her, next time you come to Chicago."

"Cool," Danny says.

* * *

Later that night, Jackson gets a text from Scott. "You aren't in Chicago," it reads, and Jackson panics. He didn't think—he should have realized—Spring Break is the perfect time for one of Scott or Isaac's random visits. It's not like Derek can't afford to ship his betas halfway across America. That is something they share: living on the life insurance policies of dead family members.

Only Jackson has an extra set of parents and Derek has a half-insane uncle.

Right now, all Jackson can think about is Erica working in a place that's covered in his scent. It's tough to track people in big cities but then, he's been there _so_ often. With shaky fingers, he types out, "In NY visiting Danny."

Scott replies after a couple minutes. "Crashing in your apartment tonight. Plane leaves tomorrow. You doing okay?"

"Yes," Jackson sends back immediately. "Not that it's your business," he adds quickly, because if he's not snarking, Scott might notice something wrong.

"Dude i'd rather be hanging out with Stiles and Isaac. It was Derek's idea," Scott answers.

Of course it was. "Don't leave a mess," he texts, and rolls over to fall asleep.

In the morning, he reads Scott's replies. "I won't." and then from earlier this morning, "Why don't you have any food?"

"I'm not feeding you. Get out of my apartment," he texts, irritated.

Scott texts back, "yeah okay. Leaving in an hour, anyway. Probably good. Chicago is messing with my head."

Jackson wants to ask why, because it has a huge chance of being about Erica. What if he crossed paths with her? Jackson realizes abruptly that he has no idea if she leaves near his apartment and if that might have been an issue.

But would it be weird for him to ask? He hems and haws for a couple minutes before deciding to go for it. "Okay, what do you mean?"

"Thought I saw someone I knew," Scott texts back.

Jackson swears softly and presses his face into the pillow. "Wasn't them?" he texts hopefully.

"Nah. But it kind of killed my good mood. Gotta get out of here."

"You do that," Jackson replies. Seems like for now, the crisis was averted. Still, he doesn't breathe easy until the hour leading up to Scott's has passed and he hasn't received any more text messages.

He doesn't want Erica to be found, and he's not sure how much of it is wanting to keep her for himself and how much of it is because _she_ doesn't want to be found. It's both, he thinks, but as to the ratio...he hasn't a clue.

* * *

**A/N**: I'm going to quit guessing how long this will end up being.


	4. Part 4

**Word Count**: 3508

**Notes**: Erica is back!

* * *

"I don't want to leave," Jackson tells Danny.

Danny rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. "I told you you should have just come to New York with me. Think, you could have gone to Columbia or something."

"I should have," Jackson says irritably, only he knows _that_ was never going to happen, not after everything. He missed Danny almost all the time, but it's easier to lie about werewolves she he's got a couple states between them.

Danny pulls him into a tight hug and says, "Maybe the airport isn't the best place to tell you, but the guy you think I'm pining over is in my theoretical mathematics class and he wears glasses."

"Of course he does," Jackson answers and pushes Danny away. "You be careful, okay? If he breaks your heart I'll break his foot, okay?"

"Of course you will," Danny placates, petting Jackson's shoulder. "I'll let you know if that happens."

"It'd be stupid," Jackson tells him.

"You'd think I'd have better luck with college boys, now that I'm actually in college," Danny laments.

"It's a matter of time, man." Of this, Jackson is sure. Danny has always been the perfect mix of snark and genuine concern for the people he loves (which, granted, was a small list. Jackson and Danny were friends out of that same sense of entitlement as much as they were friends through circumstance. Of course, Danny was always more snarky than cruel, and that's where they'd differed.)

Danny's eyes are soft now and he grins at Jackson. "Thanks."

Jackson just rolls his eyes and points at Danny's face. "The dimples, man. Hit him with the dimples."

"I know how to attract people," Danny huffs, but he's clearly trying not to laugh.

Jackson smirks. "Come visit this summer, yeah? Just not at the same time as my parents."

"Dude, no way would I be there then," Danny says, wrinkling his nose. "I love them and all, but you get pissy when they start asking questions."

"Shut up."

"You get pissy at everything, actually," Danny continues thoughtfully. "But yeah, I'll be there."

"Good," Jackson says. He glances at his watch and sighs. "I gotta go through security, still."

"Text me when you land," Danny says.

"We can skype next weekend," Jackson offers. "You can tell me about your new boyfriend—"

"He's not my boyfriend yet," Danny says, scowling.

"Exactly, _yet_. I expect a progress report, is what I'm saying," Jackson answers. "And maybe I'll tell you something about Erica. Maybe."

"And maybe you could text Lydia some time," Danny snipes.

Jackson groans. "Ugh, _why_?"

"Because she's still expecting something from you? You should clear things up."

"Fine, _Mom_," Jackson says. "Now give me a hug and kiss good bye. I have a boo-boo on my heart."

"You're such an idiot," Danny says, but hugs him regardless. "I'm not kissing you, though."

Jackson laughs and shakes his head ruefully. "Okay, okay. Bye."

"Bye!" Danny calls, and Jackson has to walk away or he won't ever leave.

Well, that's not true, he thinks later, when he's staring out of the plane window, watching the runway go by. Danny is his best friend, but Erica presents a new challenge, something to distract him when his teachers are being more boring than usual.

And he'd be lying if he said he was comfortable with missing her at the diner this week.

So, so dumb.

* * *

Jackson takes a taxi from the airport when he gets back to Chicago. He could have walked home without problem, but he has luggage and didn't feel like it.

He texts Danny on the way, "Made it okay. Make sure to hit him with your dimples."

Danny sends him a picture of his middle finger in front of a New York style pizza, and Jackson laughs in the back of the cab for a full minute.

When he gets back to his apartment, he puts his duffle bag down and wanders around, making sure Scott didn't do anything stupid while he was here. Everything appears to be in order—lifting the couch cushions reveals no candy wrappers—and nothing is missing.

He thinks about unpacking or taking everything down to the laundromat, but honestly he doesn't feel like it, and...well, his stomach is growling.

He wants to go to the diner immediately, to say hello to Erica, but then he reminds himself that he doesn't owe her anything, shouldn't owe her anything.

(He just wants to.)

Instead, he decides to go get Chicago style pizza. In the restaurant, he sends Danny a picture of his own middle finger in front of the pizza.

Danny sends back, "Imitation is the best form of flattery, xoxo."

Jackson snorts into his pizza.

* * *

Okay, so he goes to the diner a couple minutes earlier than usual. Like thirty. Okay, an hour early. But it's seriously not a big deal. He brought his textbooks with him and he's reading Kant's _Critique of Pure Reason_ when Erica approaches the table.

"Where have you been?" she asks, hand on her hip.

"I was with Danny in New York. Miss me?" he asks with a grin that does not come across as hopeful. He hopes.

"Little bit," she offers. She smirks at him as she pulls her notebook and pen out. "Mostly your tip."

"You _can_ buy affection," he says in faux wonder.

Erica snickers before asking if he knows what he wants yet.

"Let's just start with coffee," he says.

"Okay," she says. "Maybe I'll charge you this time."

"Damn," he sighs. "Miss one week and suddenly you hate me."

She shrugs. "Keep trying, maybe I'll change my mind."

Challenge accepted, he thinks, but he definitely doesn't say that out loud. He kind of loathes memes and the idea of anyone knowing that they have any headspace at all actually pains him.

He reads Kant with a frown on his face while he waits for her and wonders if there's another way to read Kant. He thinks about what his professor said about German Kant scholars reading the translated (and abridged) version of Kant's books and decides that there's not.

"What are you reading?" Erica asks when she sets down the coffee.

"Kant," he says.

"Don't sound so happy about it," she suggests.

"No one likes Kant," Jackson mutters. "Not even Kant scholars like Kant."

She laughs about that and shakes her head. "You know what you want?"

"The rotisserie chicken," he decides on a whim. He ate so healthy in New York, because Danny, unlike him, actually had to work at maintaining a physique. It's unfair, but in his favor, so what does he care? Tonight, he can eat a whole chicken.

"Someone's hungry," Erica says as she writes down the order. "I'll have that out for you in a few minutes."

"Thanks," he says, and drinks the coffee tiredly. Classes still suck. He really, really gets what Danny was saying that first night. Law is interesting and he's always wanted to be a lawyer, since he knew what that entailed. It's not about the money, which he has plenty of, thanks to that insurance settlement. He just likes that there are _rules_ people have follow, and he likes the idea of knowing them well enough that he can find all the loopholes.

What Kant's ramblings about transcendental deductions have to do with law, he might never know.

He's rereading a single sentence over and over, trying to make sense of it when Erica returns. "Don't strain yourself," she says as she sets down the plate. She has that look on her face that Lydia used to get sometimes. The one that said, "We all know who the real dumb one is here."

He'd been really willing to ignore those looks most of the time. He'd never bothered to compare that to how she normally acted—dumb and ditzy but controlling. Lydia has always been visibly smart, if you bother to pay attention. He never had.

So he can't blame Lydia for the love not being enough. At least not totally.

He brushes it off this time because he honestly has no gauge on what level of intelligence Erica has. He also has a stinking suspicion that Erica's education ended back when they were sophomores, when she ran away and was subsequently kidnapped.

"Thank you, darling," he says snarkily. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Fair warning," she says as she refills the coffee. "The chicken is just all right."

Jackson nods before trying a bite. He grimaces and nods. "We're back to where we started. It doesn't make me want to vomit."

"Such a high class palate," Erica simpers.

He rolls his eyes. "Obviously." He eats a few more bites, and since Erica hasn't left the table yet, he says, "Fair warning. Sometimes Scott and Isaac come to check up on me."

"Are you a little rebel?" Erica asks. Her tone is teasing, but it has a bite that wasn't there before. "Disobeying Daddy alpha? He has to send your big brothers to check on you?"

He rocks back a little, hackles raising. "No, he just freaks out because I'm so far away."

"Exactly," she says drily.

"What's wrong with you?" Jackson asks, because for some reason she's angry now, and he doesn't know what to do.

"Nothing," she snaps. "Just, don't even think on it." She starts to walk away.

"Did you see Scott last week?" he asks, desperate to keep her there, to understand.

Her eyes are dark when she looks back at him, but she says not a word.

He pays for the coffee.

* * *

Jackson spends the next few days trying to figure out what he did wrong and how to fix it. He honestly had been trying to warn her, and he can't figure out why even the mention of Scott or Isaac would upset her so much.

Well, maybe he understands why she wouldn't like Scott. From what he understood, Scott and his girlfriend had both beat her up more than once, and Scott had apparently rejected her advances a few times. It was all weird and he'd never cared enough about the pack drama to really bother understanding.

But Isaac and Erica had been close, he thought. Isaac was _still_ in mourning for Erica even though it had been four years.

He wonders if she wishes she had seen Isaac instead of Scott last week, because he gets the feeling that Scott did catch a glimpse of her.

But mostly, he wants to know why Erica is here, not there. Why she's hiding from the pack. Why she's pretending to be dead.

He wants her to tell him.

* * *

"So did he fall in love with you yet?" Jackson asks absentmindedly. He's skyping with Danny while doing homework, and any distraction is a blessing. This Kant paper is killing him.

"No," Danny answers. "But he does seem interested in me, now."

"Of course he is," Jackson says. He erases a sentence that trivializes his argument and sighs. "It was the dimples, huh?"

"Maybe," Danny answers, and then his fingers are flying across the keyboard, tapping loud enough that Jackson switches back to the skype window.

"Are you playing a game?" he asks.

"Yeah," Danny answers.

"Are you trying to get out of telling me about him?"

"Don't be nosy, Jackson." Danny continues playing the game.

Jackson groans and goes back to his paper. For a few minutes, the only sound is of typing—Jackson with his paper and Danny with what Jackson guesses is an online version of Galaga, if he knows Danny at all. (Hint: he does.)

"I think Erica hates me," he mutters.

The noise of typing stops abruptly and Danny looks at him. "What'd you do?"

"Don't really know," Jackson admits. "Mentioned people from her past and she freaked out?"

"She _is_ pretending to be dead. Maybe she's just worried that they'll find out, and the gig will be up."

"You're probably right," Jackson sighs.

"I'm always right," Danny says, rolling his eyes. Then with a wide grin, he adds, "Lydia and I have that in common. Have you talked to her yet?"

"Nah, I'll probably just avoid her until she gets the hint."

"Dude, you're only hurting yourself. Lydia might love you, but I think she'd be okay if you never came back. She's tough," Danny points out.

"I know," Jackson says. "Obviously I know that. There's a reason I liked her, okay?"

Danny shook his head and yawned. "I gotta sleep. Hurry up and finish your paper."

"Yeah, yeah," Jackson mutters. "I'll talk to you later."

"Bye," Danny says, and closes out of Skype.

Jackson does not want to talk to Lydia. He wants to fix things with Erica, though.

He wishes he was still in that place where he got everything he wanted.

* * *

Jackson's _maybe_ a little nervous when he goes to the diner. He halfway expects her to send a different waitress over to his table, so he's brought his textbooks again as a contingency plan. If she won't talk to him, at least he'll get something done.

But Erica walks up to the table just like normal. She looks a little defeated but not annoyed. "Hey," she says quietly.

"Hey," he answers just as softly, and he wants to apologize and give her flowers and candy until she says she's okay and he can stop, and then he wants to keep going with that.

He stomps on that line of thinking, because it's ridiculous and he's above begging. Probably.

Definitely.

Maybe?

"Do you want coffee?" she asks, and her hands fist around the hem of her skirt briefly before letting go. "I could probably give it to you free tonight."

He nods. "Yeah, I'd...I'd like coffee."

"I'll have it right out," she says, and then practically runs from the table.

He thinks about how it must feel to be her. He never made fun of her while they were in school—a part of him would always remember climbing trees with her on the playground, before she had seizures, and anyway, she'd never pissed him off, not like Stilinski. Or Scott. Still, he knows who he was in high school—a stuck up jock who wasn't nice, who taunted people who crossed him, who put himself first. He wonders if she's scared that he'll do something like that now.

Because the thing is...the thing is that Erica might be strong now, alpha strong, but inside? He doesn't think much has changed. She's still the girl that got mocked for things she couldn't control.

With that thought in mind, he schools his face into a more gentle smile when she returns with the coffee. And she does relax a little when she sees the face, and suddenly he's worried that she spent the whole week thinking he hated her.

He certainly hates _that_ idea.

"Do you know what you want to order?" she asks.

"My usual," he says, smiling warmly at her, even though it feels foreign. He's not used to coddling the people he likes, but right now, he thinks she needs it. And...he needs it, too. From her. Logically, you give what you get. So maybe...

She smiles back, and it's genuine now. "California Burger." No teasing today, and it feels wrong, but he can do this, if it's what's necessary.

"Yeah," he says. "Thanks."

"Sure," she says. "I'll bring it out in a few minutes."

He nods and then buries his head in a textbook. He's just starting to understand the quantity theory when Erica reappears with his food.

"Look," he blurts, and she starts, staring at him with wide eyes. "I realize that I've been a jerk to you. And I wanted to say that I'm sorry. I pushed you and I shouldn't have."

"No," she agrees with a sigh, "You shouldn't have."

"Yeah," he says. "You must really, really hate me."

"No, not at all," she offers quickly.

"You sure?" he asks.

"Positive," she answers. "I was...upset last week because I don't like to think about Beacon Hills. I can usually ignore it when it's just you, but when it's you _and _them, it's...harder."

He wants to ask what's wrong with Beacon Hills, but he can answer that himself, so he just nods. "Yeah... Do you want me to...stop coming around? I mean, if it's bringing up bad memories."

She shakes her head.

"Oh, good," he says, relaxing. "Because I really want you to like me." He almost cringes at how desperate that sounded, but he thinks it's working, he thinks he knows how this will play out. She'll smile and things will still be a little awkward, but they'll click eventually.

"Luckily for you," she says, "I do like you." Some of her old swagger is returning, and the words come out a little more sexually charged then he expected.

It's not unwelcome, of course, and honestly it's more like the way they were at first. It's relaxed and normal. He finds himself grinning back and leaning toward her a little.

The coffee is free, and Erica gets a 45% tip.

* * *

"So how is Danny?" Erica asks the next week. "I forgot to ask."

"He's great," Jackson says. Smiling into his coffee. "This guy he likes, Luke, finally asked him out and the semester is almost over, so life is pretty great for him right now."

"Well, _you _could be in New York," Erica points out. "That'd probably make his life better."

"But yours worse," he says in mock sorrow. "Oh, the sacrifices I must make."

"Shut up," she says, but she's laughing. When she brings him his food, she asks, "Seriously, why _did _you choose Chicago instead of New York? Surely you could have gone to Columbia."

Danny knows why he's in Chicago instead of New York, Jackson thinks. So do his parents, and probably even Lydia. The people he cares about? They know.

But they're all people who have been in his life so long that he almost can't imagine life without them (except Lydia, although it feels like she's still there, most of the time, tapping her foot while she watches him study). He cares about Erica, but she still has the veneer of shiny newness that screams at him not to trust.

But to get trust, he reasons, you have to give it. He wants to know why she's here, and maybe the road to that is telling her why _he's_ here.

"My birth father went to school here," Jackson offers carefully, because it's better than saying, "Chicago is far away enough from Derek that I don't have to see him, but close enough that I could go back. If I wanted."

"And that's more important than Danny? Or Lydia?" she asks.

Why does everything come back to Lydia? Jackson laments mentally. Outwardly, he just shrugs. "Lydia and I aren't...anything any more."

"The it couple, broken up. High School dreams are crushed," Erica sighs.

_That's_ almost annoying, but he ignores it for the time being. Erica is trying to rile him up and he doesn't really want anything to do with it. He thinks about telling her that Chicago just felt like the right place, like being here now is important. But he doesn't say that because he doesn't really believe in intuition, at least, not the kind that tells you where you should move or whether you should wear a blue shirt today.

Maybe Erica has picked up on his vague irritation, because she offers suddenly, "Chicago was mostly just a safe place to hide, you know? everything closer seemed too dangerous, and everything further seemed like too far from home."

He chews a french fry slowly and contemplates that. It's weird to hear her synthesize his own thoughts, albeit hers are focused on safety and his are focused on pack. He picks at the word home carefully in his mind before asking, "Is Beacon Hills your home?"

The smile on her face freezes for a second, and then she shrugs. "Not any more."

He understands that.

She leaves the table then, to attend to another customer, and when she comes back, she has an air of melancholy covered by a forced smile.

He wants the genuine smile back, so he says, "I want pie."

"Of course you do," she says, and he can see a little of the tension ease out of her shoulders.

"A whole pie," he corrects, and she laughs a little.

"I'll get that for you," she promises, and when she returns, she brings the check with her.

He makes sure to brush her fingers when he takes it, and he feels like a kid again when he gets a giddy rush out of it. He tries to remember the last time he touched someone he genuinely liked (not counting Danny over spring break) and draws a blank.

Maybe it makes sense that his fingers are tingling while he writes in the 46% tip, or maybe he's just being ridiculous. He can't bring himself to care.

* * *

**Disclaimer**: I still don't own anything but I KIND OF want to be captain of this ship.

**A/N**: Gersh this is adorbs. And a little sad. But not too much. :)


	5. Part 5

**Word Count**: 3101

**Notes**: In this chapter Jackson reminds us all that he's not a nice person. But then it's mostly fluffy.

* * *

Jackson has a plan.

(Not that planning things out is anything new. He's known since he was six that he was going to be a lawyer, because that's what his dad was. The only time that changed was the first two years of high school, briefly after he found out that he was adopted. Why his parents had waited so long to tell him, he couldn't be sure. So from the time he found out he didn't belong until the time he was reborn as a werewolf, he was pretty uninterested in emulating his adoptive father. That's when he told his then-new girlfriend Lydia that he wanted to play lacrosse professionally, and that's when the downward spiral had started.

He's not sure if he's ever come out of that spiral, but being in Chicago does seem to help. He's not sure if that's because he has breathing room now, or if it's the change in scenery, or even the change of adding Erica to his life in a...new way. Challenges, he's discovered, are the only things that actually make life seem good, sometimes. Like finding out what was going out with Scott in tenth grade, or finding out what douchebag had broken Danny's heart when he came back to Beacon Hills during vacation from the boarding school.)

Plans always seem to make things simpler, easier to accomplish. If Jackson can list things out in his head, he knows he can do it.

Pushing Scott back in tenth grade was simple, and having the plan made it better. He could literally list off what he was planning. It made it worse for Scott, and sometimes Jackson thinks back to the look on Scott's face when he told her he was going to take Allison and make her scream _his_ name and he feels that same sick rush of power.

Sometimes that makes him feel tired, though. It's not fun to relive the glory days when, even in his head, they never felt very glorious.

Anyway, the current plan has nothing to do with torment (not that he'd be above that if he thought it would work) and everything to do with being nice.

The thing about understanding people and their motivations is that it makes it possible for him to manipulate them easily enough. His parents were the easiest, of course. After the initial shock (that had lasted nearly two years), he'd gotten over himself and told his parents he was sorry and that he loved them. That made it a lot easier to convince them to let him leave. Now when he says it, they wire more money to his account, as if the life insurance settlement hadn't been enough. Not that he's complaining.

Manipulating Danny is harder and easier all at once. Harder because he doesn't like to unless Danny will benefit from it, and easier because he knows exactly which buttons to push. All it takes is goading and compliments mixed into teasing, and suddenly Danny is willing to be a lot more overt in his flirting and Jackson gets more information about the guys Danny is into.

Of course, Danny manipulates him right back, which is why, for the last four years, there's been a Lydia-shaped thorn in his side. It's getting worse, and he knows it's only a matter of time before he takes care of it.

The people he usually manipulates are easy to read and easy to understand. Erica presents a little bit more of a challenge because he doesn't know enough about her to know where her buttons are even located, let alone which to push. So phase one of the plan is find the buttons, and the rest, he figures, will fall in place.

Including what the endgame is, because at the moment, he's not really sure what he wants from her. It could be sex, but it's more than that, because he has plenty of friends at the college who are _already_ willing. He's not sure Erica has something to offer on that front besides werewolf stamina and really great breasts.

That's not what he wants, and the thought seems almost strange. He's aware that he's _supposed _to want it, and to be fair, he wouldn't say no. Not by a long shot. But he hasn't been thinking about her and sex in the same space.

No, she's a mystery he intends to solve, a code he needs to translate. Understanding her might be what he wants in the end, and if making out happens at some point? He won't be upset.

He thinks she's probably pretty decent at kissing. She's probably the type to bite and pull hair. The idea appeals to him more than is really good, considering he's in class at the moment. He thinks about Scott's stupid crooked jaw to calm himself down.

* * *

He's supposed to go to the diner today, but he has a group presentation due in his history class. He was lucky enough to pair up with one of the friends he mentioned to Erica, but the only night Eli has free is tonight, so they have to get it all done.

If he's lucky, he'll convince Eli to go to the diner with him. If not, he'll go tomorrow and hope she's there.

He needs to find out her schedule. Or her number. _Something_.

Anyway, he and Eli are starting at the library. It quickly becomes clear that Eli is more of a perfectionist than he is, and that preparing a project on Betsy Ross is going to take more time than he had initially thought.

"Hey, look," Eli says about an hour into the study session. "I found a virtual tour of Betsy's house."

Jackson grunts his approval and keeps taking notes. Eli is a nice enough guy, but a little bit too into philosophy for Jackson to really like him. It's not like with Danny, who might like things Jackson doesn't, and vice versa, but shared so many common interests that it wasn't hard to hang out.

It's not that Jackson dislikes Eli, even, or is particularly bothered by Eli liking philosophy and _Betsy Ross_ (of all the historical women he could have picked to have a crush on—seriously?). Eli is actually an okay guy. They both dislike football but vaguely support the Patriots and whoever people predict will win the Super Bowl. And they share an interest in sports movies with predictable endings, so they have things to talk about.

It's just...he's in the library learning about how Betsy Ross taught George Washington how to cut a five pointed star with one snip of her scissors and not flirting over coffee and a decent burger.

He seriously wants some pie.

(Well. You know.)

Two hours later, Jackson compiles the information into a Powerpoint while Eli keeps writing down new facts. He's thinking he might be able to get there really late, if they continue at this pace.

It doesn't change the fact that he has other homework due tomorrow, but at least most of that is readings, and if he skimps on them, he can probably get by without contributing to the discussion (because he hates David Hume and his teacher should feel bad for making him read that). Plus he could read it at the diner.

"Dude!" Eli exclaims suddenly. "Did you put down that Betsy could cut out a five pointed star with one snip?"

"I honestly have no idea what that means," Jackson informs him, but adds it to a slide anyway.

Eli continues researching happily while Jackson considers clawing his face off. Unfortunately, he didn't know if limb regeneration was a thing for werewolves. He doesn't want to risk his face for that.

* * *

Four hours later, he tells Eli good bye and hurries to the diner. It's late, almost as late as the time they shared the pie. A repeat performance of that would be okay with him, he thinks, and he might be crossing his fingers for that. Only not really, because Jackson is not nine years old.

He slides into the diner hoping Erica didn't get off shift early or anything like that, because he actually can't stomach the idea of missing her again so soon.

But no, there she is, standing at the table of a trucker and smiling easily. The smile looks fake from where he's standing, but it doesn't matter. She's so _beautiful_.

He catches his breath at that thought, because while it's always been true, he's shied away from the word. He knows there are people who think there's no difference between calling a girl sexy or hot instead of beautiful, but he's not stupid; he knows there is.

He can't get away with thinking of her as hot any more, not when he's seeing her like this.

He swallows and forces himself across the diner to sit down at the table. He knows what he wants, apparently. He wants to be with her all the time, maybe.

Yeah.

She approaches his booth with a grin. "Howdy," she says. "Thought you got lost in New York again."

"Nah," he says. "School project."

"Fun," she says. "What can I get you?"

"The usual," he says.

"All of it?"

"Yep," he answers.

"Okay," she says, and leaves him at the table, feeling a little breathless.

Damn. He pulls out _An_ _Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding_ and starts reading.

He's not absorbing anything about cause and effect though (and only part of that is because it's boring as hell). He keeps staring at Erica drifting around the restaurant until she returns with his coffee.

"You see something you like?" she asks in exasperation while she pours his coffee.

"You, I guess," he tells her with a broad grin.

It catches her off guard, like maybe she was surprised he'd been so up front about it. She blinks at him owlishly and then a slow grin crosses her face. "You're getting bolder, Jackson."

He could listen to her say his name all day.

"I do have to wonder why, though," she continues, setting the coffee down. "You've said you don't want an alpha, you're obviously not looking to cull favor with Derek, and you must know that Lydia is waiting for you."

"How do _you_ know that?" he asks, caught on the bit about Lydia.

"Lucky guess," she says with a shrug.

He shakes his head right away. "It doesn't matter, though. I'm not interested in Lydia." He pauses, glances at her mouth, and then carefully back at her eyes. "Is it really so hard to believe that I just like you? No dark motives."

"Yes," she says bluntly. She presses her palms into the table and leans across it until they're on the same eye level. "Because people _don't _like me. They just tolerate me."

"People are stupid," he says, rolling his eyes. "I think we both know that." He moves his hand across the table until it's touching hers and raises an eyebrow.

She leans back and pulls her hands away. "I'm not going to be a girl you hook up with once and ditch, Jackson."

His name again. _Jeez._ "Who said anything about hooking up? If I wanted easy sex you're not the person I'd ask. I know plenty of girls I could just pick up." And that's true. It's not like his face doesn't make things easy on that front. Plus it's remarkably easy to chat up girls (well, a certain type of girl. He doesn't think Erica falls into that category).

"So why are you here? Hmm? Because it can't be getting any easier," she says lowly.

"Because I like _you_. Remember?" He's thinking about the night he told her he wanted her to like him, and it must have been clear then.

"Like me how?" she asks, but then turns like she's heard something. "I'll let you think about that for a minute. I have to go do my job." She walks swiftly to another table, refills their coffee, and disappears into the kitchen.

He drinks his mug of coffee and reads the same paragraph five times while he waits for her to come back. He needs her to understand that this has never been about sex, although she's certainly attractive enough for it. It started out as a mystery and now it's an adventure. And he genuinely _likes_ her. As a friend and then some.

Erica doesn't come back to the booth until his food is ready, perhaps seeking to minimalize their contact. But he's not going to let that happen if he can help it. As she sets the food in front of him, he starts talking.

"Erica, you're gorgeous but you have to know that's not why I like you," he begins.

She tilts her head but gestures for him to continue.

He releases a sigh and nods. "You're funny, you know? And having you here is like having a piece of home with me, only not annoying."

She snorts at that and shakes her head. "So I make you laugh and I'm not annoying," she says, looking unimpressed.

"You forgot beautiful," he says cheekily. "But seriously, seeing you is usually the highlight of my week, you know? You're...interesting."

"You seem so awkward right now," she coos. "Very well; you passed the test. For now."

"The problem is that I just don't know enough about you," he says. "Maybe that's my real angle."

"Finding out where I got the red eyes?" she asks, amused. There's a sharp edge, though, and he thinks this is another test.

"Admittedly, yes," he says, shrugging. "But other things, too. Like what you did when you spent that year as a wolf and how you ended up working here. Little things."

"Little things," she repeats doubtfully.

"Yeah," he says, looking straight into her eyes.

"You don't want to bang me?" she checks.

"Not unless you want to," he says with a shrug.

"Hmm," she says, tapping her chin. "I guess we'll see."

She walks away after that, but he's already feeling victorious. He takes his time eating, hoping she'll come back to check on him.

She doesn't until he's finishing his burger, but she's smiling again, so he figures he's not in trouble. "If I stay really late, will you eat pie with me again?" he asks teasingly.

"I could probably do that," she says, ducking her head. She looks back up at him through her lashes after that, and he feels relieved. She has to feel at least sort of the same, because she keeps forgiving him.

So he hangs out, eating his fries as slowly as possible while he finishes his assigned reading. When he's the last customer, she approaches the table with a boxed pie and her jacket already on. "You got a roommate?" she asks.

"No," he says, eyeing the pie with interest.

"Invite me over," she says, grinning. "Not for sex. For pie."

"You got the whipped cream?" he asks.

She nods and he smirks.

"Just as good as sex then."

She snorts. "Right. Well, let's pay your bill and then leave, yeah? I think we made the busboy mad last time."

"Busboys," he says dismissively, waving a hand.

She sighs. "Come on, doofus."

* * *

"So what do you even like to do?" he asks when they're comfortably seated on his living room floor.

"I used to knit," she says. "And cook."

"Seriously?" he asks. "Knitting?"

Erica rolls her eyes. "Don't be a douche. Yeah. Knitting was always nice, calming...Good for time spent recuperating in the hospital." She sounds bitter about that, but then, that's to be expected.

"Why'd you quit?" he asks, because commenting on anything else seems particularly douchetastic.

Still, she looks kind of sad. "I guess I don't have much time. Or money. I mean, I work full time at the diner, but I don't even have a GED. Chicago isn't cheap to live in, you know? I barely make rent with my paycheck." She cuts her eyes at him over the pie and grins a little. "Your tips help, though."

He shrugs. "It's nothing."

"Yeah, I know," she sighs. "My dad worked your case."

Awkward. He grimaces but nods. He makes the executive decision not to say anything, because anything he says now will be cruel and deflective, so instead he takes a big bite of pie.

"What about you?" she asks, obviously sensing that she's hit a nerve. "Still play lacrosse?"

"Not really," he says. "I tossed a ball around with Danny in New York, but I don't really get the opportunity to play it casually here. And I'm not joining the team."

"Yeah, I think you mentioned that," she says. "You just grow up or something?"

"Or something," he confirms.

The keep talking like this, and Jackson learns that Erica's favorite color is sea foam green but she likes wearing darker colors than that, that she really likes the newest album Muse put out, and that she goes jogging before going into work. Also, she's ticklish, but only in one spot that she refuses to reveal. He's biding his time to find out _that_ answer.

"One last thing," she says as she puts her plate in the sink. "I killed Aiden."

The name doesn't mean much to him, and he tells her as much.

"One of the twins in the alpha pack," she says softly. "It was to help Boyd escape, but I think he thought...that Aiden killed me."

Oh. _Oh_. "And that's why they think you're dead," he says.

"Yeah."

"You could go home," he suggests. "The alpha pack is gone and Derek would welcome you back."

"You could go home, too," she reminds him.

Jackson shakes his head. "Nah."

She grins. "Exactly. Nah." She's quiet for a moment, hands bunched up in the sleeves of her jacket, with a small smile. "I have work early in the morning."

"What's your schedule?" he asks, coming to lean against the counter next to her. "In case I have to miss a Wednesday or something."

She ducks her head, maybe trying to hide a smile. "I'll write it down for you. It basically stays the same every week."

He grabs a notepad and hands it to her with pen. She scrawls it down, and as she leaves, he realizes that she's left a phone number, too. "Don't text too much," she wrote. "I only have 200 minutes."

Still, he saves the number into his phone and tacks her schedule up on the fridge.

This was a good night, he thinks, and when he falls into bed, he's still smiling.

* * *

**A/N**: Aw look they're starting to get to know each other. And even though Jackson's motivations aren't necessarily pure, I think we learned a lot about him here...I know I did. And he seems okay.

So this took about as long as it did last time and I am sorry that I can't write more often. I blame school. But! I did a bunch of really short prompts on tumblr (check me out, neverendingpaintrain yo) that I can upload for you guys? Like more than 20! See. I've been writing every day. But those were five sentences each and this is...3k words. So?

Anyway you can always send me prompts. :)


	6. Part 6

**Word count**: 4035

**Notes**: Omg I wrote this like three times because my computer kept freezing and not saving. If there are errors (as there usually are) I'm sorry. Also you got this about a week(?) earlier than I was planning. I probably won't update anything until I'm finished with finals.

* * *

The full moon falls on a Wednesday for the first time since Jackson has been going in to the diner, which means for the first time, he's not going to be there. It's more bitter than sweet, but to make up for it, he goes the day before.

"Hi," Erica says, smiling at him when he appears. "You're off schedule."

"Yeah, well," he shrugs. "For some reason, I like seeing you, and tomorrow seemed like a bad day to be indoors, so..."

"True," she says, crossing her arms. "Are you anchored?"

"Oh, yeah, of course," he says, rolling his eyes. It's easy to act self-assured. It's like wearing an old hoodie that's worn down and thin, but so comfortable it's like a second skin.

And he _does_ have an anchor. It was a matter of necessity. He's not going to tell her that his anchor is _fear_ of all things, because it's still something makes him flinch when he thinks about it. He has no idea if that's the kind of thing that changes. Derek hadn't been particularly forthcoming about it over texting, just citing his own as anger. So Jackson has been using fear for the past three years, and for the most part, it's worked. He hasn't killed anyone.

(Not since Lydia saved him.)

But he's pretty sure that fear being the thing that times him to humanity isn't a good thing. Well. It is what it is, right?

"Nice of you to worry about me, though," he says, smirking at her. "Working on becoming an alpha?"

"I don't want _you_ in my pack," she says, frowning at him. He thinks she's teasing him, though, if the glimmer in her eyes is anything to go by. "Don't be ridiculous. I just don't want you to eat all my coworkers."

"Moot point, since I won't be here," he reminds her.

She shrugs. "Suppose you chase down my scent in an effort to submit to me."

He scoffs. "No way."

She grins at him wolfishly. "You say that now. You want some coffee?"

"Sure," he says. "But I have a question for you. Are you posturing?"

Erica raises an eyebrow. "I have no idea what you mean."

"You know, the free coffee, the constant reminders that you're an alpha..." he teases. He wants her to say yes, or at least mean yes when she scoffs and says no. It'd be nice to have someone interested in impressing him again. Because of him, that is. Not because of his face (which, obviously, is perfect.) "You trying to impress me?"

She levels him with a cool stare. "Are you sure you're not posturing for me? Coming in here, leaving giant tips, reminding me that you're a beta all the time..."

"Touché," Jackson says, leaning back with a lazy grin.

"I think you want to submit to me," she suggests. "You want me to boss you around." She leans forward, palms flat on the table. "I can do that if you want."

A whine slips out of him before he can stop it, and he freezes, vaguely mortified. This is supposed to be a game and she—she says _that_. Not that he's opposed because—_damn_.

Her eyes are red when he looks at them again and he starts to duck his head before he stops himself. She's not his alpha and he's not going to—no.

So Jackson forces himself to look her in the eye, only to get distracted by her licking her lips.

It's very hot in this diner.

"I'll have that coffee right out for you," she says and _winks_ as she walks away.

He lets out a low groan and leans his head back against the booth. Erica is practically...pornagraphic. Not that this is exactly a new thing. He remembers her transformation in high school. But that had never been directed at him and _that_ makes a world of difference.

Worst of all, she's currently winning the verbal sparring match. Which is not fair at all. Ugh.

He cringes when he thinks about the whine. _Ridiculous_. Be a werewolf, he thinks to himself sourly. Not a teen wolf, a werewolf. He shifts in his seat, uncomfortable. The idea of Erica telling him what to do while they—made out, don't think of anything more than making out—_shit_—was overwhelming.

In an effort to calm down, Jackson opens his contacts on his phone and flicks through them. For a brief moment, his finger hovers over Lydia's name. He knows it's the right number, because Danny had snagged the phone over spring break and updated her contact information.

It would be easy to text her a stupid short message. _Sorry_.

He doesn't send it.

On the bright side, he's distracted himself enough from Erica that he's not thinking about her naked any more. Which is good, because she's walking back to the table, smug smile firmly in place. "You okay, Jackson?" she asks when she sets the coffee down in front of him. "You don't look so good."

He might be glaring at her.

(He is.)

"Peachy," he grits out. "Thank you for the coffee."

"Sure thing," she says, obviously delighted at his discomfort. "Do you need more time, or are you ready to order?"

"My usual," he says.

"You got it," she says, and she's _giggling_, of course she is. "I'll have that right out for you." Still tittering, she walks away, hips swinging, more pronounced than usual. Which is actually...great. Except he catches another guy eying her and turns a glare on him.

The guy is unapologetic.

Jackson hates people.

He slumps forward in his seat and drinks the coffee with half a pout and flicks through Facebook newsfeed. Scott and Allison are on again, apparently, and Eli has a new girlfriend named Rebecca. She might be in his economics class, actually, but then, that was nothing special. Around 150 people were in his economics class.

Erica comes back. "I have a proposition for you," she says, more serious than earlier.

"Yeah?" he says, eating a fry immediately. "What's that?"

"You ever go running on the full moon?" she asks.

He shakes his head. "Usually just stay in my apartment. Running around Chicago never really seemed like a good idea."

"I haven't run with any one in a while," she says, looking at him meaningfully.

"I don't have a car," he points out. "It would take a while to get out of the city."

She shrugs. "I have tomorrow off and I'm sure I'll have tons of excess energy." She gives him a lascivious grin at this, but he can tell she's just joking now.

His face burns anyway. He clears his throat. "So you want to jog out of Chicago so we can run around all night in the woods?"

She beams. "Sounds about right."

He thinks about his other plans, which had been sitting through an economics lecture and a biology lab. "Okay. What time should we meet up?"

"Like four," she suggests.

"Okay," he agrees, and eats another fry.

Erica steals one off his plate. "That creep behind me?" she says, tilting her head slightly toward the guy that had been staring at her earlier. "He's a douche."

"Duh," Jackson says, frowning.

"I'm just saying, you don't need to be jealous of him," she says, a grin splitting her features neatly. "You're at least three times as pretty."

"Duh," he says again, rolling his eyes. "And I think you mean at least five times."

She glances at the guy. "You're right," she admits. She winks at him again. "I'll be back to check on you later, Jackson."

His name. He shivers. "Thanks...Erica," he says. When was the last time he said her name? Has he ever said it? When they met in Chicago the first time, definitely but...after that? He tries to remember, and then tries to figure out if him saying her name has the same effect as her saying his name. He hopes it does.

He subtly checks her out as she walks away, just as she glances over her shoulder at him, biting her lip.

So he'll say her name more often, then.

His phone buzzes when he's halfway through his burger, and he grins when he sees that Danny's sent him a picture. The grin falls off his face and he rolls his eyes when he sees the picture. It's of Danny and his boyfriend, eating sushi and flipping off the camera.

"I hate you both," he texts back.

"Love you too," Danny answers.

Jackson snorts. "Watch out. I might decide to tell Luke all your dark secrets."

Danny doesn't answer that. Jackson counts it as a victory.

* * *

He shows up at the diner the next day at four. He can feel the pull of the moon already, even though the sun is still up and the moon is only just rising. He watches it with interest and waits for Erica to arrive at the diner.

He feels more comfortable than he usually does on these days—or no, that's not right. He feels settled and unsettled all at once. A big part of him is comfortable in the knowledge that he'll be seeing Erica soon. The other part of him is reminding him that he needs to focus on fear to stay human.

That feels shaky at the moment, kind of like before.

The first two full moons he spent outside of Beacon Hills, Scott drove up to the boarding school and stayed with him, preventing him from hurting anyone.

They were in the woods, and Jackson only remembers most of the night through the lens of a predator, trying to chase prey. Or in this case, Scott. He'd come out of that haze at one point to see Scott pinning him against a tree while cuts on his face and chest healed. He was shifted, but obviously still _Scott_.

"How?" Jackson had asked. "How do you stay in control?"

Scott had hesitated before answering, "I think about Allison. She's my anchor."

"Anchor?" he repeated, panting.

"Yeah...like, she anchors me to being human," Scott said.

Jackson had loved Lydia. He probably still does to a certain extent. So for a year, he'd anchored himself with thoughts of her that night of the warehouse. It had worked mostly, until he realized he wasn't going back to Beacon Hills and getting back to Lydia seemed less and less important.

It wasn't for lack of love or because of the distance. It was just that Beacon Hills—and by extension, Lydia—reminded him of murdering people.

(He's not sure why Erica doesn't remind him of murdering people. They had interacted while he was the kanima. She'd poisoned him with his own venom.

He doesn't want to think about that.)

Toward the end of that year, the fear had crept in, and he stopped having complete control. He never hurt anyone, as far as he knows, but he had woken up in the middle of the woods a few times.

That's when Derek had texted him about _his_ anchor.

Jackson wasn't angry. But he was—is—scared. Fear started working as an anchor when he focused on it, and Lydia slipped away.

A snake can't be poisoned by it's own venom, Derek said.

Well.

The wolf has no room for fear. Fear keeps him human.

He doesn't feel as scared as he did before, and maybe some of that comes from the fact that he hasn't been focusing on the fear as much as he was before. Erica has taken up more and more of his thoughts.

He doesn't think she's his anchor or anything that extreme but she _is_ messing with his current one. At least she'll be with him tonight, if he loses it.

"Hey," Erica says, walking up to stand beside him and startling him out of his reverie. "Ready to jog?"

"Yeah, sure," he says. "Lead the way."

She smiles at him and nods. "We'll have to run for a while. I was serious about feeling restless this month."

"I feel it, too," he offers.

"It's something new," she says, and she takes off. He catches up in time to hear her say. "I haven't run with anyone since Boyd and I left Beacon Hills."

"No one?" Jackson asks, a little surprised. He knew she didn't have a pack, but the idea of Erica being completely alone these past few years is more horrible than he wants to think about.

"Nope," she agrees, smiling at him a little nervously. "You're the first."

Warmth curls in his chest and he feels himself smile back.

For all that Erica had claimed restless, she looks grounded. Her golden hair is pulled up into a ponytail that swings with every step she takes and catches the late afternoon light and basically shines.

He thinks of Lydia's hair after a shower, before she'd put any product in it. He liked it most then, when it was soft and still a little damp. She'd let him curl his fingers through it sometimes, and card out the knots.

Erica's hair looks like it would be that soft all the time.

He's obsessing. And doing it creepily. Damn moon, making him act like _Stilinski _of all people.

Jackson follows her as they jog, trusting her to know the best way out of the city. He doesn't leave very often, anyway, so she'd probably have a better idea of where to go.

So she's a little ahead of him and when he's not staring at the way her hair reflects the sun, his eyes drift downward. She's wearing leggings as pants, something Lydia would never do. He's not even sure he would appreciate it on Lydia, and he's seen her naked.

But Erica is mostly muscle (he can see very contour of muscle on her leg, flexing and relaxing as she runs) and the leggings really _work_ for her.

He has a feeling she doesn't wear it to look nice for other people. Erica does everything for her own appreciation. She likes to look hot, and doesn't care very much about modesty, if the thin, deep v-neck shirt is anything to go by. He could see her bra when they were running next to each other. It was purple and lacy, they type of thing Lydia wouldn't have been able to pull off. Lacy, sure, but not purple lace. She probably would have found it tacky, anyway.

Lydia would have found a lot of things about Erica tacky, though. Jackson loved Lydia (loves her?) but breaking up with her had been a relief. He's judgmental, sure, but when your best friend and your girlfriend are also judgmental, the world starts to look more and more ugly.

Not that life seems much better now. But he isn't creating the darkness, right? So that makes it different.

And even if Erica is immodest and aggressive and a little vulgar—maybe even tacky—he wouldn't have her any other way. She's right this way. She's Erica.

"Man, you're slow," she calls back over her shoulder. "Come on!" She falls into more of a run than a jog then, and lets out a whoop of laughter when she hears Jackson speed up behind her.

It's beautiful and free, isn't it?

They run for an hour before Erica says they're deep enough into the forest to escape detection.

"I have to admit," she tells him, "I'll probably instinctively move us away from civilization after shifting. I've been pretty skittish since everything happened."

"That's fine," he says, stretching his arms over his head. "It will be nice to run." He still feels the buzzing under his skin, like the moon is already trying to pull a change out of him. He wants to wait until night falls, though, so he holds it back.

Erica stands in front of him with a grin, breathing a little harder than normal from the running. "This feels right, doesn't it?" she says, reaching up to grab a branch and hoist herself up into a tree. "I haven't climbed a tree since I was a kid," she continues without waiting for an answer.

"I thought you didn't want me to be in your pack," he says from the ground, amused.

"I don't," she agrees, tugging herself higher. "Did you know you gave me my first post-bite seizure?"

He blinks in confusion. "What do you mean?" he asks, following her up the tree.

"That afternoon in the library," she says. "You shifted and paralyzed me under a flashing light. Not really good, you know? But I guess that was really Matt's fault. I don't blame you or anything. Just thinking about a lot." She hasn't stopped moving, just keeps climbing and climbing.

"Oh," he says.

"Seriously, don't worry about it," she says. "That's not actually why I don't want you in my pack."

"So why don't you?" he says. He's not going to think about being the kanima. He'll save that for when he needs to hold onto control after shifting tonight. It should feed into the fear quite easily.

"I don't know you that well," she tells him, perching about midway up the tree. "Come up here. I think we can both sit on this branch."

"Okay," he says, climbing up. "I think we're still in the same pack, anyway."

"Why do you say that?" she asks when he reaches the branch and pulls himself up.

"You still smell like Derek."

She wrinkles her nose. "I guess you do, too. Didn't think about that being a thing. And I thought being an alpha would kick me out automatically."

Jackson shrugs. "It's not like Derek is particularly forthcoming with information," he points out.

"No," she agrees. "He's not."

"That first day in Chicago," he says, looking over at her and grinning a little. "I thought you were Scott or Isaac. That's why I attacked you."

"Right," Erica says, nudging him. "Being the black sheep of the family and all."

"You're the one pretending to be dead so they'll leave you alone," he retorts.

She shrugs. "I lasted three years. Not bad, really."

He snorts. "No."

They sit in silence for a while, watching dusk settle around them. Jackson's claws come out when the sky turns pink, but he just uses them to hold onto the branch easier.

"Here it comes," Erica says as the sky turns purple, and then lets go of the branch to fall forward.

"Erica," he calls out, shocked. He leans forward to watch her fall, but she lands in a crouch and looks up at him. She's fully shifted to beta form and grins at him so her canines flash dangerously in the moonlight. Laughter bubbles out before he can stop it, and he scrambles down the tree after her.

"No acrobatics?" she slurs when he reaches her.

He lets the moon take over and grins at her wolfishly afterward. "Nah."

"Come on," she says.

He tears after her, laughing.

Being shifted makes the world different. Everything is a violent shade of red and he sees movement everywhere. At first he spends his time chasing Erica, but he gets distracted by a raccoon at one point and chases it until Erica tackles him.

It's playful, he knows, because she's licking his face as she pushes him down. But it's not just that. He tries to return the gesture and she growls at him to stay put.

As a wolf, he has no reason not to listen, so he rolls his head back to bare his throat for her.

She licks down it happily and bites the junction of his neck and shoulder.

He whines and shifts underneath her.

She bats at his nose, then sits back, lifts her head and howls. She runs off after that, and he doesn't move. She's the alpha and he can't do what she doesn't say.

But then she doesn't come back for a while, and the fear creeps back in. Abruptly, Jackson remembers who he is, realizes that he submitted to an alpha, and that his shoulder is bleeding.

He might be panicking.

Well, he'd guess that his, based on the fact that he's completely himself again, claws retracting and eyebrows becoming more presentable. Shaking, he draws up into himself, knees tucked against his chest. He breathes in short gasps. _Shit._

Running around the night of the full moon doesn't seem as fun any more, suddenly. "Erica?" he calls shakily, wrapping his arms around his knees. "Erica?"

For a long time, he sits alone, wide awake and terrified. When he hears shuffling in the bushes nearby, he automatically shifts and growls, but then a golden wolf walks out, tilts her head at him and pants a little.

She runs over to him and nuzzles his neck, lapping at the blood on his shoulder.

"Erica?" he murmurs, tentatively raising a hand to brush over her back. "S'at you?" His fangs are still out, making his words more than a little slurred. "You okay?"

She bats at his legs with a paw until he stretches them out, and then she rests her head on his lap with a content little noise.

He's relaxing with the alpha resting on his lap, starting to lose the _Jackson_ part of him again. Before he can forget what that means, he focuses intensely on what Erica had said earlier.

_"Did you know you gave me my first post-bite seizure?"_

_"I guess it was really Matt's fault."_

_You did this to me._

_Jackson._

The words play over and over in his head until Erica shifts in his lap and lets out a low whine. He starts scratching behind her ears and she relaxes.

He watches his hands, imagines them covered in scales and tearing through the skin at the back of Erica's neck.

His fingers stay blunt and human.

* * *

"Hey, Jackson, wake up."

"Hmm?" Jackson's eyes blink open slowly.

Erica is squatting in front of him, fully dressed and bleary eyed. "I have to be at work by ten and I need time to shower," she tells him. "Do you want to run back with me?"

"Yeah, okay," he says.

"Not to my apartment," she clarifies. "Just to the city."

He nods. "Okay," he says again. He stands and stretches out his stiff muscles. Sleeping against a tree was about as comfortable as he'd expected it to be, by which he meant not at all.

"Ready?" she asks.

"Yeah," he agrees, and the two of them take off at a loping run. "You have really pretty fur," he tells her after they've been running for a while and he's more awake.

"Yeah?" she asks, glancing at him.

He nods. "Like your hair."

"Oh, so that's pretty, too?" she teases.

"Beautiful," he corrects.

She shrugs and laughs before saying, "I have beautiful everything."

"Yeah," he agrees.

She smiles at him and shakes her head a little, like maybe she can't believe him.

And he understands where she's coming from. He remembers who he was in high school. It wasn't that long ago. He'd manipulated Allison with false flattery designed to hurt Scott and Lydia and held himself apart from those he considered beneath him. He probably wouldn't take himself seriously, either.

But he is. Serious, that is.

They part when they reach the diner, and wave as they run in opposite directions.

The full moon had been both better and worse than usual, but he thinks he'll take the worse if the better comes with it. Erica brought out the wolf in him as much as she brought out the human. Not for the first time, he feels well and completely exhausted after the full moon. But he also feels settled, and a little hopeful.

Which, okay, a lot of that hope is being used in mentally pleading that he hasn't accidentally joined Erica's pack on instinct. Because, yes, he likes her, and he likes her more every time he sees her, but she's right. He still doesn't know her.

But he knows how free she looks on a full moon. She'd said she was skittish, but all he had seen last night was power. Beauty.

Erica.

He wants it all.

* * *

**A/N**: So this was more flirty and angsty then I expected. I thought it was all going to be fluff but then Jackson was like "Yo my anchor is fear" and I died like five times.


	7. Part 7

**Word count**: 2999

**Trigger Warning**: Jackson has a panic attack that lasts a reaaaally long time.

* * *

Jackson is distracted in class, which is pretty normal at this point. Usually he's not thinking about pack dynamics, though. He taps his pen against the desk and thinks about what Erica had said the night of the full moon about becoming an alpha and automatically being kicked out.

Idly he texts Derek. "Is it possible for a pack to have more than one alpha?"

Derek takes a couple minutes to answer, and when he does, the text only reads "yes."

"How does that work?" Jackson asks.

"Depends on the pack," Derek answers.

Jackson rolls his eyes. Of course Derek would give a total non-answer. So how does he ask without implicating Erica? He drummed his fingers. "So what if Scott killed an alpha? Would you kick him out of the pack?"

Derek answers that immediately. "Of course not."

"Because it's Scott?" Jackson asks. Derek's always been weird about Scott. He's pretty sure it's not a sexual or a romantic thing, but Derek is possessive of Scott sometimes. He _needs_ him in his pack. Jackson knows that, of all the betas running around Beacon Hills, Scott is the one Derek worries about the most. He's guessed before that Scott must remind Derek of a younger sibling, if the way they snipe at each other before mutual life saving means anything.

"If any of you became alphas it would be fine," Derek answers after a few minutes.

"How would that work?" Jackson tries again.

"Why," Derek sends back.

Jackson groans. "I'm bored in class and curious," he answers.

Derek takes a few more minutes to send a response. "There would be negotiation. Hopefully we would be able to work it out so I was still the alpha and whoever became the new alpha would become my second."

Jackson stews over that. Erica and Derek certainly hadn't negotiated anything, but it sounds like submitting to both of them wouldn't be an issue...probably. The lack of negotiation is worrying, but it does answer the question of whether Erica is still in the pack or not. Maybe? Derek wouldn't kick her out, but she hasn't seen him in forever...

Okay, so the lack of negotiation is really worrying.

"What if there was no negotiation?" Jackson texts.

His teacher goes on and on about new age philosophy for about five minutes before Derek answers. "The second alpha could try to take the betas away."

Jackson decides not to examine that, because he's starting to panic a little. He has one final way to find out if he submitted to Erica and thus left the pack. "One last question. Is there a pack bond or some shit? Can you feel it if someone leaves the pack?"

Derek's next text is drenched in irritation. "There's a bond but it's not like I know what you're feeling or if you're alive. It just makes us all stronger. Doesn't really work when you're states away, though."

So Derek wouldn't even know if Jackson left the pack because—because Jackson isn't going back to Beacon Hills. What if he _did, _by submitting to Erica, leave the pack? Derek was controlling but as long as Jackson was states away he wouldn't have to worry about that. Derek couldn't compel him from California.

But Erica was here, and if Jackson had just given her control over him—_damn it_. It's too much like being the kanima, like surrendering control—

Jackson gathers his things and slips out of class. As soon as the door swings shut, he practically runs outside, where he falls into a crouch and gasps in air, trying, trying, failing to breathe.

_Calm down_, he thinks. _Stop it_.

He can't.

His thoughts spiral and all he can think about is flashes of memories when he killed people or shoved Derek into the pool or when Erica fell down in the library.

He's never remembered the last thing before, and it's scary. He doesn't want to remember what Matt had forced him into; doesn't want to remember any of it. But the memories have been filtering in slowly. Sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night, choking out of nightmares that are memories, drenched in fear and covered in sweat. It's bad enough to remember things in the middle of the night, in the safety of his own home. At school, outside of a classroom? It's torture.

He doesn't want them doesn't—_He's tearing after the man with glasses. Murderer, murderer. Leave the boy alone. It's raining but it doesn't matter. The man tries to get back into his car but it's too late, too—_

(He's never watched himself kill Mr. Lahey before.)

Somewhere in the back of his mind he realizes he's panicking, but he has no clue what to do with it. It happens sometimes and he usually just rides out the attack.

The only reassuring thing about these times is the knowledge that fear keeps him human and that means he won't accidentally shift and kill somebody because he's freaked out.

_Home_. He needs to go home. Sure, Erica has been there, but he'll be safe; she can't know that he's under her control now, right? He might not even be under her control. Derek never said how the alphas could take the betas, so maybe, maybe.

He starts to run, backpack thumping against him until he tightens the straps. Need to get away, away from here, away from—He stops at a trashcan on a street corner to vomit.

A woman walking by glances at him nervously, but stops and asks, "Are you okay?"

"Fine," he chokes out, because he vomited but it wasn't black and that's better than the past. "I have to—" he runs away without finishing his sentence.

By now, Jackson's vision is tunneling and he's relying on his sense of hearing and smell to avoid people and cars. It's a risky business because while he's panicking, it's harder to tap into those senses.

_Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit._

Abruptly, Jackson slams into his apartment door. He can't remember running up the steps to his floor or down the hallway but he's here now, breathing hard and fumbling to get the keys out of his pocket until finally, finally—he gets the key into the knob.

He falls through the door and scrambles to close it, leaning back against it and holding tightly to his head.

_I'm in control. Me. No one else._

He let's out a single sob and tries to curl in tighter on himself.

* * *

It takes hours.

He keeps seeing the same thing over and over—the police station. Dropping Stiles on top of Derek and threatening Mrs. McCall. Killing the deputies. All the deputies and—

Finally he calms down enough to stand up and leave his living room. He checks his phone to see that Derek had sent him another text message. "Are you okay?"

He's not, but he can't put this into words. He thinks Derek might understand but he doesn't want that. He doesn't want to think about why he's pacing or unable to shift.

Eat. He needs to eat.

He doesn't want to eat, though. His stomach hurts.

Okay. So. Sleep. Maybe he could sleep this off?

Jackson nods. He can do that. He can walk into his bedroom and shut the door and lay down and close his eyes and force himself into unawareness—

Nope, no, okay, so that's not going to happen. He needs to be awake. Needs to be aware. Needs to keep control. Needs to keep his head.

He paces.

* * *

It's like being on a roller coaster where he's slowly pulling himself out of the panic to the crest at the top, and there's a moment where he's moving free, and then there's the low swoop in his stomach, pulling

him

back

down

It doesn't stop.

* * *

Eventually he falls asleep, sprawled on his couch. It's out of pure exhaustion instead of any abatement of the fear.

He wakes up in pain, but being a werewolf means his body heals itself. He exhales slowly and stretches into a more comfortable position and breathes.

If he can focus on his breathing, he can take care of this. He can handle this. He can stay calm.

He can. _He can_.

A glance at his phone reveals that he's missed his firs class. Jackson groans, but he honestly can't bring himself to care. The glance at his phone also reveals that after the first text from Derek, none had followed.

Jackson doesn't actually care, to be honest.

Breathe.

_Breathe_.

* * *

Jackson goes to the diner because he doesn't run away from his problems.

Most of the time.

Hopefully...this will all have been an overreaction and Erica will call him a dumbass and they'll be fine. He'll be fine. Yeah.

Keeping that thought in mind, he steels his shoulders and walks into the diner. Erica has her back to him but when she smells him, she turns around to face him with a grin. It freezes on her face when she sees him, though.

He must not have the panic completely under wraps.

She hurries over to him and rests a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," he bites out. "I'm me."

She raises an eyebrow and takes her hand back. "Why don't you have a seat? I'll be over in just a minute."

He feels a little regretful about snapping, because it's not like she touches him with any sort of frequency. Too bad.

But at the same time, he kind of hates being coddled. Dating Lydia meant that never happened, besides the occasional kissing of metaphorical boo-boos...and blow jobs. Whatever. And Danny, for all his support, always heaped on the sarcasm with every hug. He doesn't want cuddling, he wants a solution.

So he slides into his usual booth. He sits cross-legged and tugs the hood of his hoodie over his head. The world is too big.

"Then make it small," Erica says softly.

"What?" Jackson jerks his head upward to see her standing next to his table. "What did you say?"

"You were mumbling about the world being to big, so I quoted Superman," she says, shrugging.

For a long second Jackson stares at her blankly. "Oh," he says. "Man of Steel."

She nods and tilts her head. "You're here on a Friday morning, which is indication enough that something's wrong, but you also smell like old panic," she says. "Run into a hunter or something?"

He shakes his head quickly. "No, I just...the night of the full moon," he says, and he can't explain what's wrong exactly, but she seems like she understands.

"Did you...Did I force you to submit?" she asks, and she sounds nervous.

He nods, cringing.

She sighs. "_Great_. Hold on a second." Erica hurries away and disappears into the kitchen. When she comes back, she's traded her apron for a loose hoodie. "Let's go."

He must not stand up fast enough because she grabs his bicep and hauls him out of the seat. He stumble after her.

On the street, she stops and he runs into her back. He's disoriented enough by everything happening that it makes sense for him to curl around her.

She doesn't say anything about their new position. "Mine or yours?" she asks.

Jackson thinks about that for a minute. He's not sure he wants to go into someone else's territory while he feels so vulnerable, but he might never get another opportunity to see Erica's. He gets the feeling that she's only offering because she knows what he'll say. "Mine."

She nods and steps away from him, sliding her hand down his arm until she's twining her fingers with his. "So let's go."

* * *

In his apartment, Erica paces while he hugs his knees on the couch. "So basically you bared your throat to me and I bit you," she says, for maybe the fifth time.

"Yes."

"But Derek said it's possible to submit to multiple alphas, right? You're still in his pack?"

"Probably," Jackson says.

"And you didn't tell him it was me," Erica clarifies further.

"Yes."

She nods and drums her fingers against her legs. "So...what? You don't want to be in my pack so much that you're...panicking?"

"It's not that," Jackson says. He's never wanted to be in her pack; never wanted to be in anyone's pack. But that's not why he's upset. Switching packs doesn't bother him at all, it's... "I can't do what you want," he tries to explain, feeling helpless.

"Jackson," she says gently. "What do you think I want?"

She's standing in front of him wearing a gray hoodie over her bright pink uniform and her hair is still a perfect color looking perfectly soft. Her face looks that way, too—delicate and smooth, gentle, soft and—

"I don't know," he says miserably. He hides his face in his hands, fingers sliding up to tug at his hair. "I don't know."

"I don't understand," she tells him.

"I'm in Chicago because I can't be under his thumb," Jackson says. "Derek. I can't be under Derek's thumb. Or anyone's thumb. You weren't supposed to be here and I wasn't supposed to submit to you. I'm not supposed to surrender control—_shit_." He starts panicking again. His chest tightens and he thinks, I'm having a heart attack.

"Jackson, Jackson, Jackson," he hears, and he realizes that Erica is kneeling in front of him, holding on to his shoulders. "Breathe with me. Focus on me, okay?"

He nods furiously and tries to follow her breathing patterns until finally, he's slumping forward to rest his head on her shoulder. If he wasn't running through multiple panic attacks, he might be embarrassed. As it is, he just feels relieved to not be alone.

She doesn't say a word about it, just moving to rest her hand on his back. "I guess I should tell you something about me," she says quietly. Her hand twitches, but settles more firmly under his shoulder blade. "The thing is...for the past three years, I've been concerned about me and no one else. I've kept myself alive and that's been all I need. It's still all I need, okay? The reason I don't have a pack and don't want you in my pack is not because I'm mad about crap you used to pull in Beacon Hills." She huffs out a laugh. "In fact I usually try not to think about it."

He opens his eyes. Her hair is soft on his face, just like he thought it would be. "Sorry," he croaks.

"It's okay," she says. "Well, it's not, but it's in the past and I usually try not to think about the past. Don't worry. Look, I don't have a pack because I'm not a leader. I'm not a follower, either. I'm just...me. I don't want the responsibility. So even if you_ did_ submit to me, I don't want you to think about it. As far as I'm concerned, I'm a lone wolf and you're still in Derek's pack. I'm not going to order you around...unless you want that."

"I don't," he says, shutting his eyes again.

"Not in any context? Because you seemed in favor of it in the diner last week," she teases.

"I'd rather it the other way," he says drily.

"So you want dominance play," she says, pushing him backwards until his shoulders are against the back of the couch. He'd been sitting on the edge, so he's at an awkward angle but she's leaning over him and he doesn't mind very much. "A fight for control," she continues, fingernails sliding over the sensitive skin of his neck. They're human but still sharp and strong.

He whimpers.

"No, you don't," she says, delighted. "You want me to be in charge."

He's not sure, really. Everything feels kind of raw, but that probably comes from the panic. He's pretty sure dominance and submission when it comes to sex is different than alpha and beta dynamics, but it's nothing he's ever been very interested in. Lydia had always controlled what happened between them, and with the other girls he'd slept with, it had mostly been about getting off. With Erica he'd be okay with experimenting, just not...right now. "Not really the time to do a kink negotiation," he says coolly.

Erica, for her part, looks duly chastised. "Sorry. That was rude." She helps him sit up, even though she doesn't need to. She grabs his wrist and looks at the time. "I took an early lunch, so I should probably go. My hour's almost up."

"Do you need to eat something?" Jackson asks, rising to his feet. "I have fruit, I think."

"I remember your cupboards being pretty bare," she says, shaking her heads.

He rolls his eyes. "I stay stocked up on apples." He opens his refrigerator (he has milk and eggs, too, okay?) and pulls out a red delicious. "Want it?"

"Sure," she says, taking it from him. Her fingers brush him, and with a start he realizes that they've touched more today than they have in the time they've known each other. Except for the full moon, but somehow that doesn't seem to count.

"Thank you," she says, taking a bite. "Red delicious is my favorite."

"I always preferred gala apples," he says. It's not true; he likes pink ladies. But there's something emasculating about saying that, so he keeps it to himself.

"Did you just lie about apple preferences?" Erica asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Nope, definitely not," he says, waving a hand at her. "Now unless you're interested in that kink negotiation, you should go."

"Ouch," she says, wiggling her eyebrows. "You should buy me dinner first, yeesh." She's laughing as she walks toward the door, though.

He smiles and leans against the counter. "Some time," he promises.

"Okay," she says. "I'll see you, Jackson."

"Bye, Erica," he says, but the door is shutting.

He's alone again, but this time it doesn't feel as horrifying.

* * *

**A/N**: Man it got (almost) fluffy at the end. You should probably thank me. I thought about ending this before Jackson went to the diner (but Erica is my favorite and if possible I'm not leaving her out of any more chapters soooo).

I also thought about ending it before they went back to the apartment. You guys are lucky.

**Disclaimer**: I've never had a panic attack. I wrote this based on descriptions found in various places on the internet and my own circular thinking when I'm depressed. If it's not accurate...that's why. Hopefully this doesn't come across as offensive.


	8. Part 8

**Word count**: 6525

**Pairing**: Jackson/Erica

**Notes**: So I'm gonna call this Happy!Chapter despite the minor angsting at the end. Sorry for the time it took to actually write.

* * *

Jackson calls Danny a couple days after panicking. He's not sure why he didn't think of it in the first place, because even if he couldn't tell Danny what exactly was bothering him, he could have taken comfort from just hearing his voice.

"'Lo?" Danny murmurs, probably distracted by whatever he's doing. Probably not homework or his boyfriend, given that he answered on the second ring.

"Hey," he says, tucking himself into the corner of his couch. If he concentrates, he can smell vague traces of Erica. It's more comforting than it should be, because she's only pack on the vaguest of technicalities. (He won't think about the alpha thing again, for his own health.)

"You okay?" Danny asks, seeming to pay more attention to him now. It's enough to hear his voice, his concern.

"I've been better," he says honestly. "I just had a panic attack the other day and missed you I guess."

"Wow, you really did miss me," he replies drily. The music playing in the background gets turned down and Danny laughs a little. "You're never this nice—or honest—unless you're genuinely upset."

Jackson huffs out a laugh despite himself and tugs his hood tighter over his face. He hasn't dressed well since the full moon, and despite the incoming heat, his hoodie has seen a lot of wear. He's not really ashamed, so long as he's feeling good. His friends acted worried at first. Eli had wondered why he hadn't been in class, but had dropped it when Jackson had brushed him off.

None of that would ever work on Danny, so why pretend in the first place?

"Shut up," he says affectionately.

Danny laughs a little, too. Seriously, he asks, "Do you want to talk about what triggered you?"

"No," he says, settling more comfortably on the couch. If he turns his head just a little, he can smell her. "Tell me something cool that's happening."

"Okay," he replies, sounding contemplative. "I guess it's pretty exciting that school will be out soon. Just a month of classes and then finals, right? I think I should be getting mostly A's, just one B."

"In what?" he asks. Danny has always been pretty intelligent, so it's no real surprise. Before, Jackson had always considered Danny the smart one of the group. Of course, later he'd discovered that Lydia had had a 5.0 which was inexplicable, given that she wasn't only in AP classes. He mostly chose not to question in it.

Danny sighs and mutters, "Physics," like by admitting he's not a rocket scientist just yet, he should be ashamed.

"Getting a B in physics is impressive," he says.

"Ugh, but look it was so stupid. I answered a question wrong on the test and I knew it was wrong but I couldn't figure out how to solve the equation differently..." Danny rambles on and Jackson shuts his eyes, just listening.

It doesn't matter how far they are because Danny will always be his.

Maybe he'll tell him about the werewolves one day.

Nothing would change.

* * *

Jackson almost doesn't return to the diner—well, that's not right. He almost doesn't _want_ to return.

But he does because, you know, he doesn't run away from his problems. And when he breathes carefully, he remembers that Erica had promised she wouldn't force him into anything, and as far as he knows, she's not his alpha.

Plus, wouldn't it be appropriate to submit to alphas your pack is friendly with? It's with that thought in mind he drags himself to the diner, maybe thirty minutes later than he normally would. He managed to dress himself sort of well today, and tried to convince himself when he looked in the mirror that he didn't look like Stilinski in the plaid shirt he was wearing. At least his _fit_ him properly.

Erica isn't out front when he steps into the diner, but he's pretty sure he can smell her in the kitchen, so he takes his normal seat and pulls out the current philosophy assignment. It's Seneca, this month, and he actually kind of likes the Stoic. Half the time he's completely full of it, but there are memorable moments, like the idea that knowledge belongs to everyone who knows it, not just the originator.

"Seems like you like him better than Kant," Erica says when she makes it to his table. Her hair is twisted into a loose bun at the base of neck. It makes her look older and softer. Still beautiful, of course, but also less threatening.

He nods. "It's not as murky. Mostly he's trying to teach lessons to some kid and Kant was just...to be honest I don't think I understood any of it."

She smiles softly at him. "That's good, at least. Can I get you something to drink?"

"Um, just water today," he says. He's still trying to catch up on sleep, and he doesn't want to wreck his chances of it with caffeine.

"Do you want a lemon with that?"

Jackson nods and she walks off to take care of that. He returns to reading. If he can finish the reading, then all he'll have to do is work on a set of problems for his math class, and he can go to bed early. The thought it more attractive than it should be, considering he's a college student. Isn't he supposed to be partying?

For all that he told Erica he has other friends (he _does_, okay?) his friends either aren't the type to party or don't miss him if he's not there. And if he's honest with himself, he's never liked parties. They were just another way to get attention as Lydia's Boyfriend, or Star Lacrosse Captain. What's he got to show off, now? He feels old, sometimes, because partying just feels like something he _used _to do.

An early night of sleep? Yeah, he's up for it.

She brings him the water and takes his order, but makes herself scarce immediately afterward. He gets the feeling that she's trying to give him space, which he genuinely appreciates, given everything that went down last week.

It's not _bad. _It shouldn't make him feel like they've taken steps backward. After all, he still barely knows her. It's not a big deal if, every once in a while, the two of them feel a little awkward around each other. After all, he came into this friendship knowing he was attracted to her and hoping she felt the same.

So it's okay if tonight she treats him like a customer she's vaguely fond of instead of a friend. It is.

Which, technically, is what their relationship is based on. He tries not to think about it usually. He likes to remember the other aspects of their relationship: the banter, sharing an apple pie, running together on the full moon...

Okay, so they should be doing _more_. Erica is his friend now, definitely. Right? Probably. He resolves to figure something out before he comes back to the diner next week.

Not tonight though. He's tired. An early night still sounds really good.

* * *

Jackson wakes up an hour early because someone is calling him. "'Lo?" he murmurs, yawning a little. He feels pretty well rested. While his interactions with Erica last night had been sparse, they'd held the same tone of a couple that had only recently reconciled. Which he knew, naturally, because he and Lydia had broken up and gotten together throughout high school. It had been like that, minus the bad history.

Well. The bad history was different, anyway.

"Are you okay?" Derek asks gruffly on the other end of the line.

"I'm fine," he sighs, rolling onto his back.

"You never answered my texts," he says. The scowl on his face is apparent in his tone of voice. It's kind of hilarious.

He does his best not to laugh. "So you waited a week to call me?" he asks doubtfully. "That's bad even for _you_."

Derek grunts unapologetically. "Whatever. Do you want to talk about it or whatever?"

"Why do I feel like it wasn't even your idea to call me?" Jackson wonders.

"It wasn't. Do you need anything?"

"No," he says, and promptly hangs up. Derek's still an awful alpha, at least where he's concerned. Scott was probably the one who recommend calling him. As much as he hates to acknowledge it, the animosity between them had always been heavier on his side.

He doesn't have to like Scott or anything, though.

Jackson checks the time on his phone and sees he still has 45 minutes before he needs to wake up for classes, and rolls back over.

He doesn't sleep, though, and instead he drifts between wakefulness and sleep, never quite landing on either. His thoughts spiral. For a while he just thinks about the way Erica looks in her uniform. He wonders what she'd look like in the clothes she wore back in Beacon Hills _now_. She's still too thin, like she doesn't really get enough to eat.

(There's a part of him that wants to feed her, to give her anything she needs. He squishes it, because if anything, she's independent and wouldn't appreciate it. But if she asked, he'd give her anything. It's probably not a good spot to be, knowing that she could exert alpha influence over him any time, but in the half-awake state he's in, he can't bring himself to mind.)

When his alarm goes off, he's thinking about breakfast and visiting Danny. At least his mind has more than one track.

* * *

The next week, when he gets to the diner, Jackson isn't expecting the older woman to serve his table. Her name tag reads "Carrie."

"Hey, what can I get you to drink?" she asks, smiling. She doesn't bother with a notepad, and he wonders if she's a career waitress. She must have excellent memory.

"Just coffee," he says carefully, drumming his fingers on the table. He knows exactly what he'll order, because he's given up on trying new things at this place. It's hit and miss, most of the time, anyway. If he's honest with himself, he only comes to see Erica anyway.

"I'll have it right out for you," she says, still smiling. How much practice does it take, he wonders, to make smiles seem _that_ genuine. Or maybe she really feels that happy.

Jackson pulls out his phone, thinking about texting Erica. Her scent is thick enough here that he honestly can't tell if she's currently here. Maybe her section got moved, or something? Or even worse, maybe she reconsidered everything that had happened between them and decided she needed out. She'd said she didn't have time to be in a pack, after all. What if she was worried about Jackson submitting to the point that she'd run off?

His phone buzzes before he's even figured out what to say to her. He opens the text message, absentmindedly chewing his lower lip. The message is from Erica, which makes his heart stutter and then even out.

"Sorry. ran into a problem. see u next week?" it reads.

He's typing out a response before he can really think about it. "Of course. It's ok."

Idly, he wonders what problem she could have run into that would make her miss out on work. From what he understands she's barely scraping by on waitress wages. It's not cheap, living in the city, but she must be doing better than she was before, if she really did gain back the twenty pounds she lost. Whatever is keeping her from her meager paycheck is probably a pretty big deal.

(Should he be helping her? That's what pack does, right?

But he's never been pack.)

"You're Jackson, right?" Carrie says when she comes back to the table, holding his coffee. She's still smiling, and he feels the corners of his own mouth turning up in response.

"Yeah," he says, taking a drink of the coffee immediately.

"Do you know what you want?" she asks, tapping the closed menu.

"The California Burger, please," he says.

She nods and turns to go, but hesitates for a second. "She likes you, you know. I didn't think she had friends outside of work, but..." She shrugs, and her smile seems to grow impossibly wider. "You make her smile more than any one else. I like that."

He's dumbstruck.

She must expect that, though, because she just takes his menu and nods. "I'll have it out for you in just a few minutes."

He finishes reading Seneca that night at the diner and leaves Carrie a 20% tip because he likes her.

Just not as much as he likes Erica.

* * *

The weather continues to heat up as they approach the end of May. He's had to give up on wearing jackets and hoodies, which is probably a good thing. He tries to imagine his high school self walking around every day in the same grey hoodie and cringes. Lydia would have murdered him.

Today he tugs on one of the new shirts he bought at J. Crew and some loose Chinos. For the first time in months, when he looks at himself in the mirror, he sees himself. It's not something he can really explain, because he still dresses like himself most of the time. The hoodie thing was just for last week, after all.

Maybe it's his eyes. For once there aren't deep purple smudges underneath them. He's slept remarkably well these last few days, since Erica reassured him at the diner. It's more than that, though. Some of his old confidence is back, and just for fun, he flexes his arms, grins.

He feels...different. Good.

So he texts Sarah and Eli, asks if they're going out tonight. He hasn't in a month or two, but he thinks he could handle it tonight.

* * *

He ends up at Applebees with Sarah and Caleb. Sarah was in one of his ethics classes last semester, and they'd immediately decided to study together. They slept together once, but it was mostly out of loneliness on her part and boredom on his. It never got awkward, which is something he really appreciates.

But he's never met Caleb. "Hey," he says, offering a hand shake to the guy. He smiles and it feels almost-real. "I'm Jackson."

"Caleb. I'm in Sarah's math class." Caleb is taller than him, but also far thinner. He kind of resembles Isaac in that way, but the slump of his shoulders isn't demure.

"Nice," Jackson offers, and glances over at Sarah to try and get a read on the situation.

She offers nothing, just smiling a little. "Look at you, making plans all by yourself!"

"It's nice to be here," he agrees, idly picking through his menu. He ignores any dig she might be making. He likes Sarah's candid manner. It's entertaining.

"Caleb is from California, too," Sarah says, "But the southern part, you know?"

"Sure," he says, looking up. "Where, exactly?"

"Chula Vista," Caleb answers. "Just north of the border."

"That must be really nice," he says. "It's near San Diego, right? I'm from the northern part, myself, but I haven't been back since I started school here."

"Seriously? These summers kill me," he replies. "I go back as soon as possible."

"Eh, you get used to it," Sarah says, leaning forward with a grin.

"Easy for you to say," says Caleb, elbowing her a little. "How long have you been here?"

"Twenty years and counting," she grins. She tucks a loose braid behind her ear and shrugs. "It's not my fault your parents were weakass white people who couldn't stand to live out of temperate zones."

Jackson snorts. No one's ever described his parents as succinctly as Sarah does.

"You know what I could go for right now? Some cheese dip," she says, tapping her menu. "Maybe some tacos."

"Does Applebees sell tacos?" Jackson wonders.

"Nah," she sighs. "But they do have queso."

"I think they have fish tacos," Caleb pipes up, flipping through his menu.

"Who eats fish tacos?" she says disbelievingly. Then she looks across the table at Jackson. "You do, don't you? Or maybe your high school girlfriend."

"Lydia never ate tacos in front of me," he laughs.

"So what did she eat?"

"Salad, mostly," he admits.

"Rabbit food," she sighs. "I remember those days. High school was a bitch. Now I eat whatever the hell I want."

"Living the dream," Jackson says.

"Basically." She looks over at Caleb. "You can eat whatever you want, too, huh? Skinny ass boys."

"Actually I'm allergic to citric acid," he says, shrugging. "I can't eat a lot of things."

"That blows," she sighs. "I guess you have to be really particular when you order. Waitresses probably hate you."

"Maybe," he says, smiling.

"Are you allergic to anything?" Sarah asks, turning to face Jackson.

"My mom tried to make me go gluten free for about a year when i was eleven," he says, smirking. "But she got over that."

"Hmm," Sarah says, eyeing him distastefully. "Of course she did."

He's missed nights like these. He loves being around Erica, but lately it's like the nights he spends at the diner are bright spots in an otherwise bleak landscape. This...could be another bright spot. Maybe he could have lots of them.

Even if it means he has to eat at _Applebees_.

* * *

His good mood persists as the days go on, and when he gets to the diner Wednesday, Erica does a double take.

"I didn't know you could smile like _that_ ," she teases as he takes a seat.

Jackson shrugs, relaxing into the booth. "Maybe I'm just happy to see you. I missed you last week."

She gives him an odd look and shakes her head. "That's sweet, but...it's something else." Then she scowls at him and puts her fists on her hips. "Besides, you've totally missed weeks before."

"I was out of state."

She plows ahead without listening to him. "And you _could_ _have_ come back some other time. Carrie wouldn't even have been insulted. She thinks you only come for me."

"Well, it's not for the food," he ribs her lightly. And he could have come by another time...it's just...well. If he had, it would have felt like a surrender of...something.

"Apparently you just gave her a 20% tip," she says, raising an eyebrow.

"Like I said," he says, rolling his eyes. "The company is _really_ nice here." He's still smiling, only barely succeeding in holding in a laugh.

"Carrie is very sweet," she says scornfully.

"But not as pretty as you."

"You're just here for my _looks_ ?" She puts on an aghast face.

"You're very impressive, that's all," he says seriously. "I've never met anyone who was _almost_ as pretty as me before."

She laughs then, apparently unable to keep up.

He might be smug about that.

(He is.)

"Okay, okay," she says, waving her notepad at him. "Do you know what you want to drink tonight?"

"Coffee," he says brightly.

"Sure thing," she says. "Be back in a bit."

His phone buzzes on the table, and when he looks down, he sees that Scott is texting him. He grimaces, but opens the message anyway.

"Derek says you were fine when he called you but he wants to know when in June we should drop by."

"How considerate," he sends back, rolling his eyes.

"Don't want to run into your parents," Scott replies.

"Then don't come. I'm fine."

"Come on, man, just give me a date. It's Isaac's turn and you won't even notice he's there."

Well, that's probably true.

"Hey, where did the happy boy go?" Erica asks as she sets the coffee down.

"Scott texted me," he complains.

She rolls her eyes. "Okay. About what?"

"He wants to know when to come by in June."

Her face becomes a little unreadable, but then she shrugs. "Derek is really possessive, huh? Faking my death was most attractive in that I get to avoid that."

"Yeah," he says, nodding. "I could try it, but I figure they'd try to find me. That would probably compromise things."

"For both of us," she agrees. She becomes thoughtful, pursing her lips and shifting her gaze to look out the window. "You should tell him sometime in June. When are your parents coming?"

"I'm not actually sure yet. And how did you know they were coming?"

She shrugs, looking at him again. "I just remembered you saying something about not going back to Beacon Hills, I think? And your parents seem like the type who would cater to your every need."

"As they should," he says, slipping back into cockiness like it's a second skin. "Danny is coming, too, after school ends for him."

"Well, that should be nice," she says. Her hair is coiled in a loose bun today, maybe because of the heat wave they're dealing with.

Jackson might be a little mesmerized by the shape of her bare neck.

"Do you know what you want to order?" she asks, apparently unaware of where his thoughts have taken him.

"Just, um, the usual," he says slowly.

"Okay," she says, smiling easily. She writes it down on the notepad. "I'll have it out for you in a few minutes and we can talk more then. But I should go deal with that guy." She gestures over her shoulder at the man staring at her impatiently from a few tables over.

He glares at Jackson. Jackson glares back.

Erica chuckles as she walks away.

Talking to her at the diner is nice and comfortable, but he wants to do more with her, in another context. He wants to talk with her in a place where they won't be interrupted by scrubs.

Finals are coming up, which means that he seriously has to understand Kant at some point. He's pulled the Spark Notes up on his phone, and has the book opened in front of him. The worst part? He's still not getting it.

Like, objectively, he understands that phenomena are different than noumena, but determining which is which? Less likely.

"Oh, the Kant guy again," Erica says. She slides into his booth, a cup of coffee in front of her. "Do you mind if I sit here? I'm on break."

"Sure," he says, raising an eyebrow. "This is an interesting time for you to have a break."

"Maybe I just wanted to talk to you."

"Sweet," he comments. "It's _almost_ like…you care."

"I never said I didn't," she says, smiling. She takes a drink of coffee and grimaces. "This coffee is decent, but I wish they'd serve it iced."

"Iced coffee is for wimps," Jackson replies, rolling his eyes.

"Not if it's hot outside, you dumbass," she says. She kicks him under the table lightly. She's still smiling.

"I take my coffee like the Spartans," he says.

"You put a shit ton of cream in. You sure about that?"

"Positive."

She rolls her eyes. "Okay, fine. Come on, pretty boy, _commiserate_ with me."

"It's really hot outside," he says flatly.

She kicks him again. "I know it's bothering you. It was always nice in Beacon Hills, temperature-wise."

He smiles then, and leans forward, propping his head up. "How's it going?" That's not what he meant to say. He wanted to tease her some more, because surely she's been here longer than he has, but he can't help the giddiness. He just wants to talk to her all the time.

"Okay," she says. "Missing work last week isn't going to break me financially, at least not completely. I finally got a library card, but I don't know when I'll be able to go. I'm always working when it's over. Maybe on lunch hour? I don't know."

"I could go for you," he offers before he really thinks about it. He doesn't really have time to do it, honestly, not with finals next week or making his apartment presentable for the inevitable visit of his parents and Danny.

"Really?"

Well, he can't take it back _now_, not when she's smiling at him like that. "Sure," he says, almost helplessly. "Just tell me what kind of books you want and I'll bring them on Wednesday."

"Thanks," she says, smiling warmly. "What about you? You seem really happy."

He shrugs. "I just feel good," he says honestly. (He doesn't want to lie to her, not while he feels this well.)

"I'm really glad," she says sincerely. She takes another gulp of coffee, still grimacing.

"Why do you keep drinking it if it's too hot? Drink soda or something."

"I'm tired," she admits. She takes a spoon out of her pocket and adds a creamer cup into the coffee. "The caffeine hits faster with the coffee."

"You need a break," he suggests.

"No time, no money, no way," she rattles off.

"Well, how do you relax?" he wonders, dropping his arm onto the table. "Do you just work constantly?"

"Basically," she sighs. She rolls her neck, working out the kinks. "It's exhausting, for sure, but I do what I have to. I only really get to relax on the full moon or when I'm sleeping." She eyes him and the pile of school books next to him. "What about you? You're always studying."

"I swim," he says, shrugging. "Just last weekend I went out with friends to Applebees."

"_You_ went to Applebees?" She puts on a face of disbelief.

"It's shocking, I know."

"Do you eat out constantly? That can't be healthy."

"I do what I have to," he says, shrugging.

Carrie walks over just then, smiling warmly. "Here you go, hun," she says, setting the food down in front of him. She pats Erica's shoulder as she walks toward the other man, a plate balanced on her other arm.

"I haven't swam in forever," Erica laments. She traces a pattern into the table, then swipes a fry from his plate.

He bites into his burger thoughtfully. "I swim at the university pool. You could come with me some time. It'd be easy to sneak you in."

"No time, no suit," she says, shrugging.

He hums, thinking. "Well…" he pauses, looking at her calculatingly.

"What?" she wonders, quirking an eyebrow.

"Are you willing to break the rules?"

She grins. "Do you know me at all?"

* * *

Saturday night, Jackson goes back to the diner and orders a milkshake to go. It's nearing midnight, and Erica gets off shift in fifteen minutes. He sits on the barstool to wait for her, idly sipping his milkshake. He has two towels in his backpack and the keys he paid one of the lifeguards 100$ for.

His milkshake is strawberry.

Erica is wearing lipstick the same color. Right now, she's mopping up a spill of coffee while the customer apologizes profusely, citing lack of sleep and overwork. Erica reassures the woman as she mops, promising that it's totally fine, to be expected, as though she isn't running on minimal sleep herself.

She'd never do that for Jackson. Not that Jackson _would_ spill his coffee, but if he did, Erica would probably tease him mercilessly. And still get an excellent tip.

The customer leaves pretty soon after, obviously embarrassed and a little more awake, and the two of them are the only ones in the front of the restaurant.

Another waitress approaches Jackson from the kitchen. "Do you need a refill on your milkshake, honey?" she asks, smiling. Her red hair hangs in tight ringlets around her face, and bounces when she walks.

"No thanks," he says, slurping noisily.

As though she can tell it's directed at her, Erica scoffs and nudges him as she passes with the mop. "I'll be done in a few minutes. Be patient."

"You can go now," the other waitress says. She eyes Jackson, giving him a once over. "I'd want to get to _that_ as soon as possible, too."

Erica turns pink. "It's not like that."

"It should be."

"_Marissa_," she hisses, hurrying into the kitchen, probably to avoid Jackson's gaze.

Marissa turns to look at him and raises an eyebrow. "Please tell me it's like that. Erica deserves to have someone who looks as good as you."

"Thanks," he says, nonplussed.

Erica appears again, now without her apron. "Okay, let's go." She grabs Jackson by the bicep and pulls him out of the diner, cheeks still bright red. "Bye Marissa, you suck. I hope you step on a lego."

Marissa tossed her hair and winked. "Bye, sweetie!"

Outside, Erica turns to him and drops his arm. She crosses her arms shyly and asks, "So what's the plan?"

"Let's go to the university," he says, gesturing down the street. Campus is only about 15 minutes away when walking, so he didn't bother calling a cab or anything.

"Did you bring me a swimsuit?" she asks after a few blocks.

"No," he says, shrugging. "How would I even know your size?"

"So how am I supposed to swim?" she demands.

"Swim naked," he suggests, wiggling his eyebrows at her. "It's not like you're shy."

She punches his arm and doesn't speak to him for a full block. As they round a corner, she says, "If I'm swimming naked, you have to do it, too."

"Fine," he says, shrugging.

"And you can't look at me."

"Okay," he agrees.

"And I mean seriously," she says, grabbing his arm. "Don't, like, look when you think I can't see you."

"I promise I won't," he says, meeting her eyes. He's not a dick. If she doesn't want him to do something, he won't do it. Sex Ed 101.

"Okay," she says, dropping his arm. The walk past a building before she says, "But if you do, I'll cut your hair off with my claws."

"Deal," he says hastily.

* * *

Inside the Aquatics center, Jackson drops his backpack near the shallow end of the pool. "Should I go first?" he asks, glancing at her.

She's got her arms crossed again, but she's smiling. "Sure," she says, turning around dutifully. He hadn't asked her to, but he appreciates it anyway. It puts them on the same level, and that's very nice.

He strips quickly and slides into the water. Swimming naked always feels way better than swimming in a suit. Something about the water, he guesses. "I'll swim a couple laps," he says, not looking back at her. "Come in when you're done."

"Okay," she says.

He hears a rustle of cloth before he starts swimming. He starts with breaststroke to warm up, and he's across the pool and headed back before he feels someone else get in the water. He pops his head up and sees Erica across the pool, smiling radiantly.

She's piled her hair on top of her head to keep it dry, and only her shoulders are visible with the way she's crouched. She submerges them, too, after a minute, before looking over at him. She lifts a hand out of the water and waves a little before starting to swim.

He swims leisurely toward her, making sure to leave enough room for her to feel covered. He can't see much through the rippling water as it is, but every effort counts when it comes to Erica.

"Should we be swimming without a life guard on duty?" she asks, swimming across the pool toward the deeper end. "What if I drown?"

"I'm certified," he replies, swimming after her. He's faster than she is, so they reach the deep end about the same time. He ducks under the floating divider, but she picks it up and moves under, still keeping her hair dry.

She starts treading water. "What if _you_ drown?" she wonders. "What if I can't save you?"

He looks over at her and raises an eyebrow. He's not sure how much she's asking with this, how much she's admitting. Does she feel responsible? Like they're pack? Or is this strictly about the swimming? He's not sure what he wants from her besides...being with her? Is that the right phrase? Dating her? Is that too simple?

"I won't drown," he promises, and grins. "I'm built for this."

"Really," she says, grinning and starting to swim toward him. "Pretty sure I could shove you under."

"Dying with your breasts in my face would be the best way to go," he says solemnly.

She cackles in delight. "Okay, okay. You got it." She changes paths, swimming around him instead. She rests her arms against the wall, back to him. "I'm not a very strong swimmer," she tells him, looking over her shoulder.

"Even if you drown I can do CPR." He's certified in that, too.

She shakes her head. "You'd go to such great lengths just to kiss me."

"Fun fact," he begins, grinning and swimming a little closer. "You're not supposed to do mouth to mouth in CPR any more. Just the heart pumping."

"Movies have lied to me," she laments, looking away from him and sinking into the water a little more. "All that kissing was useless?"

"They can show a woman's breasts on TV," he says. "So they just have them blow the air in. Yeah, it was useless."

She laughs a little. "Good thing you know how to save me, I guess."

He smiles at the back of her head and then ducks under the water to swim away again. Resolutely, he doesn't open his eyes to look at her. Her body, her choice, right?

(And he's not ready for...that. Because it couldn't be casual, and entering a relationship seems impossible, most days.

Not today, so much, but tomorrow? It will probably be different.)

He pops his head back up on the other side of the pool and he says, "Let's play a game."

She turns around in the water, starting to tread again, though she holds onto the side with one arm for a moment. "What kind?"

Jackson shrugs. He's not very creative, and most of the games he knows in the water require physical contact, and neither of them are fully prepared for that. "Twenty questions? Truth or Dare?"

"If we pick Truth or Dare," she says, dropping the wall and starting to swim back to the shallow end. "Nothing involving nudity will be allowed."

"We're already nude," he teases, swimming back with her.

"You know what I mean," she says, rolling her eyes. "You do."

"I _guess _so," he says, rolling his eyes dramatically. When he looks over at her, she's smiling and her eyes are soft.

"You're happy," she says, before he can ask.

He just nods. He doesn't want to acknowledge it or think about it, because happiness doesn't last. Not for long. So he just says, "Truth or Dare?"

"Why do you get to start?" she complains. "Fine, truth."

He considers it carefully, then says, "Are we friends?" Maybe that's a stupid question, but he'd hate it if she didn't say yes. He cares about her, which is unusual in itself. It's stranger when you consider their history, but then...

(The time she picked the weight off his chest and he'd said, "Thanks," without feeling guilty, and she'd said, "Any time." Of course she'd immediately followed that up by dragging him to Derek, but no one is perfect.)

"Of course, you idiot," she says, splashing him. It's a huge splash, given that he's fifteen feet away from her at least, and it manages to sprinkle onto his skin.

"Okay, sorry, just checking," he says, but he can't stop smiling.

She rolls her eyes. "Pansy. Truth or Dare?"

"Truth?" he says slowly, not sure if he's picking right. In high school, Lydia had derided Truth or Dare. It was apparently for middle school babies. He's never been good at it.

"Are you ever going to make a move?" she asks, looking down at the water.

"Do you want me to?" he says incredulously.

"Not _now_, obviously," she huffs. Her eyes narrow as she regards him and she sinks a little deeper into the water. "But, yes, preferably before I get old and ugly."

"I don't think you're going to get ugly," he says.

"Answer the question. Don't think I didn't notice you got me to answer a question when it wasn't your turn, either."

He snorts. "Yeah, probably."

"But?"

"It's not your turn."

"So make _your_ cheating up to me, then, dumbass."

Jackson laughs, "Okay, Erica. Fine. I'm...waiting."

"For _what_?" she demands. "Now is not the time to start emulating Derek."

"Well, you made out with him, right?" he teases.

"Shut up. How do you even know that? And stop distracting me."

He shrugs. "I know everything, probably."

"I will punch you in the balls," she threatens.

"I'm waiting for it to feel right, maybe," he says. He kind of feels like hiding, but instead, he drags his fingers though the water, looks down. He doesn't move away, though, and that feels like its own kind of strength. "I know, you know, one day. It will be. But I'm...I lack closure on _everything_. How could you even want that?" And that's the truth, the only thing he could possibly say. He wants Erica more than anything, except maybe Danny. He wouldn't give Danny up for anything. But he wants her different, and that _matters_, right? But he's a screwup, a poor little rich boy who baffles his parents, who _killed_ people because there was something wrong with him.

He's a werewolf now, which means he _should_ be fixed, but he feels like nothing ever got resolved. He still worries that his birth parents will show up and take him away. (Take him away _where_? He never figured that out.) And as soon as he had Lydia, really, truly, had her, he let her go. He pushed her away.

Why should this be any different?

"Hey," she says, getting a little closer. "You were happy, now you're not. I take everything back." She's close enough to touch, close enough that if he really concentrated, he could see her under the water.

He doesn't try it.

"It's not like I'm much better," she continues. "Everyone thinks I'm dead. I lost my only friends because I was _afraid_. Because I am afraid. If you're a lost cause, so am I." The she laughs and covers her mouth to hide what he guesses is a smile. "Sorry. I just never saw this coming. In school I always thought you were, like, really happy? You know, since Stiles was so in love with your girlfriend. I figured she must be pretty...pretty perfect. So you were probably happy. And rich."

"Nah," he admits. "I mean it was fine, I guess."

"It's okay," she says. "And by the way? This is a stupid game."

He looks over at her and smiles. "Race you to the other side?"

"No way!" she shouts, but he's already taken off. "You jerk!"

He makes it to the other side before she's left the shallow end, so he meets her in the middle, and she gets behind him to dunk him under the water, her modesty preserved.

(Her hair ends up getting wet.)


End file.
